In the Beginning
by NotMarge
Summary: X-Men: First Class as seen through the eyes of Hank McCoy. Shall we call it a prequel to the previously published Hank stories then?
1. Man of Science

I do not own X-Men: First Class.

Duh.

In the Beginning

**Hey, sick of Hank yet? Well, if not, let's do this thing! :D**

Chapter 1: Man of Science

* * *

The director of but one of several covert CIA research facilities, Mr. John Oliver, looked like he could be a jolly, funny man. Dark haired, surprisingly tall with a rotund frame and a generous face. He might have been quite the character if he hadn't been so caught up and consumed by his life's mission. To investigate the application of paranormal powers for military defense. He needed fresh, open minds. People willing to think outside the box, entertain and engage radical new ideas and theories. To believe in the possibility of the universe and everything in it.

Among others, he found an exceptional young man, a genius with the potential for creative scientific thinking, development, and invention.

He had found him just a few short years ago. Tucked away at Harvard. A brilliant, shy boy with a truly amazing mind and pliable, agreeable personality to mold and develop. Mr. Oliver had told him to dream big, to think big, and that he would fund any project that thinking and dreaming conjured up.

And the boy had delivered. Hugely, to say the least. Mr. Oliver was certain they had barely scratched the surface of his potential. He was sure there was more yet to learn about the tall, thin, brilliant boy before them. That young man dressed regrettably in old man clothes of khaki slacks, grey plaid button up shirt, black tie, and maroon sweater under a white labcoat.

How much more he was soon to find out.

* * *

"It's supersonic," Hank McCoy informed them coolly. "The most advanced plane ever built."

He tried to sound casual and relaxed as he answered the dark haired woman's awed 'wow, what is that' query as she fearfully stared in wonder at the replica of one of his most prized inventions hanging fifteen feet above the floor. Just looking at it, thinking about it, gave him a sense of pride, of accomplishment.

It was beautiful, powerful, a masterpiece.

He had dreamed, engineered it, and flown it.

His Blackbird.

It was visually the most stunning piece of machinery in his lab at the Institute.

_His_ lab.

It was huge, cavernous. Grey floor, grey walls, windows set high near the ceiling provided natural light and kept prying eyes away from secretive goings-on. A crane apparatus hung overhead at the ready. Two gigantic turbine fans set deep in the walls faced each other, capable of creating powerful air currents for simulation tests.

To his left near the main entrance was a vast workspace with large stainless steel tables, storage units, and neatly organized laboratory equipment. The tables held microscopes and other basic scientific equipment as well as equipment invented or modified personally by Hank for his own purposes. Several large pressurized tanks stood in one corner, holding within their smooth, cool frames various gases. The stainless steel stools were not very comfortable to his rather spare posterior but Hank found he was rarely able to remain still anyway in the excitement of discovery.

In case of emergency, several escape doors led away from the structure. Though Hank had never needed to use them. He was, by nature and practice, a very cautious man. There was even a small observation room with thick glass windows for observers to bear witness to some of his more dangerous breakthroughs.

And it was all his.

Here he was in complete control.

He could do anything, create anything. A single phone call would summon workers to assist him, aid him if he so wished. And they spoke, behaved congenially, respectfully to him. If someone behaved insolently or shirked a task, he could dismiss them. If need be, he could even summon Mr. Oliver and have the person dressed down. Even fired. It had happened. Once. And though Hank had felt bad about the surly man losing his job, it was an empowering feeling to know that he was no longer resigned to suffer bullies. He was a grown man now. A man to be respected.

The entire space was meticulously clean and neat. Neatness and order. Those were the things he clung to, practices he could embrace. Those were things he could control. Experiments didn't always go as planned. So when they failed or messes occurred, you just cleaned up and started over again.

It was a good thing Hank McCoy had a kind disposition and gentle spirit. A lesser man might have felt the power of a god in a space such as this.

But Hank only saw the next discovery.

He loved it here. He was more at home here than he had ever been in the house he grew up in. This was a space he understood. Here there were no bullies, no arguments, no shameful interactions.

People of the Institute simply knew him as Dr. Hank McCoy. Scientist, Inventor. A surprisingly young man, perhaps, but only a man. A man who could stun them with his intellect. Mr. Oliver often said, 'Hank, give it to me like a hotdog vendor.' And Hank would try. Though he rather enjoyed knowing that he understood concepts that crossed other people's eyes and gave them headaches.

Though many people worked in the Institute, Hank's life was a relatively solitary one. Him and his work. He didn't mind. He was actually more comfortable with his pursuits of discovery and inventions than with living, breathing people.

Living, breathing people tended to talk and ask questions and expect him to reply. And though he mostly managed to do so, it did not come naturally to him. Except in the realm of science.

Partially, it was due to his . . . unique cellular makeup and the psychological effect it had on him as he had learned what he really was.

An abnormal monkey-toed freak.

People did not, would not understand. And so it was easier to remain within himself. Safer.

The pay he earned was substantial, though he had little need for it. He lived onsite. He worked onsite. He ate onsite. Though his quarters did stay stocked with soda. And Twinkies.

From time to time, people would say to him, 'ready for that vacation, Hank?' and he'd inevitably mumble and shrug. Where was there to go? All his life, his experiments, his interests were here. What was out there?

The pay was useful for one thing, though. Shoes. Big, sturdy shoes. He didn't own many pairs but he knew the size and brand that fit his particular needs the best. And the best part was he could order them by catalogue. No need to step foot, so to speak, in a department store where well-meaning shoe salesman would insist on getting his exact measurements. He had never been in one of those. The very thought gave him heart palpitations and cold sweats.

Now, looking at his plane replica, his glasses, studiously cleaned only moments before, picked up the glare from the window momentarily.

_That should be my next invention. Glare-free lenses._

And he had to refrain from reaching for one of his several pocket pens to scribble down the idea. He was, after all, speaking with guests and it would not due to be rude to them. He filed the thought away for later rumination.

Before him now were the new recruits Mr. Oliver had excitedly been regaling him about. Apparently they had unique abilities that Hank would be overjoyed as a scientist to investigate further.

He kept his focus on the plane as long as he could to avoid their gazes. A rather sophisticated looked man wearing a tweed jacket over a blue vest, white shirt, and blue pants. A blond woman his brain for some reason absolutely refused to process. The dark haired woman who had inquired about his plane. And a rather stern, predatorial looking man in a short leather jacket.

For the moment, everything seemed in control and fine.

But nervousness and excitement mixed heavily, thickly within him as he spoke to Mr. Oliver and the strangers he had brought with him. He nonchalantly put his left hand in his pants pocket, effectively displacing the fabric of the pants as a preventive safeguard. Sometimes, interacting with people made him so nervous he experienced embarrassing physiological reactions that, well, were not something he cared to share with complete strangers. Or _anyone_ for that matter.

Hank kept talking, wrapping himself in his most comfortable subject matter.

Discovery and invention.

"You should see it in real life," he said, speaking fondly of the plane replica above them. "It's incredible."

* * *

**Hello!**

**Okay, so yeah, by reader request, the Hank-centric retelling of X-Men: First Class is officially on! I will be sticking to the movie and its dialogue and of course adding in Hank introspection a lot. Maybe filling in scene transitions here and there.**

**Nervous body reactions? Yeah, I've got it on good authority that can sometimes be the case. Especially with guys Hank's age. But more on that later.**

**Coming up, we'll actually enjoy more of the infamous intro scene.**

**Everybody appreciates feedback. Leave a review if you like.**


	2. An Auspicious Encounter

I do not own X-Men: First Class.

Duh.

In the Beginning

Chapter 2: An Auspicious Encounter

* * *

"Hank, these are the new special recruits I was telling you about."

Two men, both older and more worldly-looking than Hank ever entertained the notion of being.

And two women. But he politely ignored them for the moment, focusing in on the men. Women were an unfortunate mystery to him, having had nearly no personal interactions with them and a minuscule amount of that interaction bordering on positive.

So they were too much to process for now. Especially their attire. Why did women find it necessary to wear their skirts so short? It was a cruelty to show so much beautiful, touchable leg right out in the –

_Uh-oh. Um, think of something else. Okay. Nychthemeron, thaumaturgy, esculent . . ._

Mr. Oliver predominately spoke to the smiling man in the blue suit. Apparently, he was the leader.

"This is Hank McCoy. One of our most talented young researchers."

Hank smiled congenially, keeping his mouth closed tight. Careful as always to keep his crooked teeth hidden behind his lips.

_Hiding, always hiding something, _ the voice inside him whispered, judging him harshly for his insecurities.

That voice, the voice of the other side of him. The side he didn't talk about. The side related to his feet.

_Shut up_, he replied silently.

That voice, pushed down by years and years of astute practice. That voice, deeper and more guttural than his speaking voice. That voice that now quietly grumbled and obediently melted away.

While he had been outwardly social and internally arguing with the voice, the man in tweed stepped forward with a large, open smile. Hank reached out reflexively to shake his proffered hand and his rapid-fire brain processed the man's words a fraction of a second too slow.

"How wonderful! Another mutant already here!"

_Oh crap._

"Why didn't you say?" the man asked, smiling back at Mr. Oliver.

Hank's smile faded even as his secret was let out of the bag.

_No, no, no, no, no . . ._

Sheer panic welled up in him. Nobody here knew. Nobody at Harvard had known. He'd been so careful. Always so careful. Taking teases from others about the size of his shoes, never saying anything. Knowing it was better to be teased for big feet than the real issue.

"Know what?"

Mr. Oliver was lost even as the others surged ahead of him in the race to Hank's hidden truth.

"Because you don't know," Mr. Tweed replied, his smile fading as well.

He looked back at Hank, regret coloring his face and his voice. Those blue eyes so sincerely seeking forgiveness.

"I am so, so terribly sorry."

_I don't care. I hate you._

Hank shrugged, defeated in an instant, struggling to maintain a calm, even façade. He mumbled something unintelligible and looked away, seeking the visual comfort of his science, research. It did not help. He gave up and his gaze plunged helplessly to the floor as he shrugged and shifted caught between his fight or flight instincts.

Mr. Oliver stepped forward now. He sounded almost betrayed, hurt. And shocked.

"Hank?"

Hank forced himself to meet the man's eyes for an excruciating split second before desperately breaking contact again. His voice dropped, though he managed to keep it and his composure from cracking.

"You didn't ask so I didn't tell."

He could feel more of them advancing. Now they would insist to see and the taunting, the bullying, the snarky comments would begin all over again.

He could either endure it or leave. Flee to his private quarters. From the Institute itself.

But where? Where would he go? This was where he fit, where he belonged. Or had.

The alternative was to stay and endure the shameful knowledge that everyone knew he was a freak all over again.

He had felt so good. So in control.

Now it was all g –

When she stepped into his line of vision and he looked up, he saw her.

_Oh . . ._

When he saw her, he forgot everything for a second. Where he was, what he was doing. His own name.

Hank McCoy's brilliant brain, which normally fired on at least six cylinders all intermeshed together, was lost. Hank McCoy, who could conjugate irregular verbs in Latin whilst simultaneously considering the molecular structure of a lab rat's optic nerve and eating a sandwich while listening to 'Town without Pity', was dumbfounded.

Talking. She was talking. What was she talking about? Maybe he could comprehend her words if she would stop looking at him. And smiling. And breathing.

". . . super smart?" she asked curiously.

Long, wavy, blond hair. He wanted to run his fingers through it. Pink, glossy lips. He wondered what they would taste like. What color were her eyes?

The man in blue was still talking. Hank let his words float away. They weren't important. Not like her.

"I wish that's all it was," he replied reluctantly.

She held his gaze, waiting. Blue. Her eyes were blue. And warm and smiling.

No woman ever looked at him like this before. Much less a goddess like this.

". . . among friends now, Hank," the English voice cut through his scrambled circuits. "You can show off."

Were there _other_ people in the room besides her?

Hank reluctantly pulled his gaze away from the angel before him and glanced at the man next to her, his brain finally processing the lightly accented words.

_Here? Now? In front of . . . her?_

She seemed to waiting, now joined by the other woman. They crowded around him in anticipation. Vaguely, Hank noted the man in the leather jacket had not moved. Still near the railing with his arms crossed. Casually uninterested.

_Do you understand how intrusive and overwhelming this is for me? _

Though he seemed to be craning his neck to see too.

_Oh, well, you're going to rubberneck too, I see. No help at all._

Feeling trapped and out of options, Hank began removing his shoes and socks. Glancing surreptitiously at the blond as he did so.

_At least I washed my feet today. I guess that's something._

And there they were. Out for everyone's gawking eyes to see.

Deformed, hairy, prehensile feet. Toes, the same number as everyone else. But bizarrely structured. Monkey feet. Strong muscles, heavy, thick, blue veins.

The fact that they were incredibly strong and agile did not deter from what they were.

Abnormal.

And what they revealed him to be.

A freak.

He was going to be sick. He was going to faint. He was going to die.

Then the man in blue chuckled . . .

"Splendid."

_Oh course you would think that, they're not yours, you prying bas-_

. . . as Mr. Oliver and the dark haired woman gaped.

_Oh, please, just let this end._

Hank's entire body was about to disintegrate in a dust cloud of shame and misery even as his unique feet appreciatively thanked him for letting them uncramp and spread out in the open.

Then he looked up.

She was smiling.

Not cruelly. Not in mockery.

But truly smiling. Happy. Delighted, even. Her eyes alight with discovery and wonder.

And Hank thought he might live a little longer.

He ghosted a tentative smile, a bold thought beginning to form.

If she'd smile like that with him just standing there, maybe she'd smile more if he . . .

He moved toward the plane replica, muttering an apology for no particular reason other than with his feet on display it was reflexive. His curious audience moved back and, glancing back at her again, he positioned himself under the edge of the Blackbird display.

Gathering his courage and taking a deep breath, he jumped, flipping upside down to grasp the side of the display fuselage with his prehensile toes. He dangled upside down, his arms held out to the sides, as they laughed and smiled and clapped with delight.

"Ta – da," he uncharacteristically sing-songed.

_What are you _doing_, you freaky monkey-toed boy?_

_I swear I don't really know._

She was moving toward him now as the blood rushed to his brain and fortunately not other places. She was smiling, looking from his face to his feet and back again. Her face was alight and beautiful, even upside down.

She was coming closer. He could almost touch her. She could touch him. There was no hiding from those eyes.

_. . . scopperloit, anfractuosity, arenaceous . . ._

Blue eyes to upside down blue eyes, she gazed at him warmly.

"You're amazing."

Everything stopped. Time and space froze. There was only her.

"Really?" he managed, grinning at her exquisite upside down visage.

Her smile widened, her eyes light up even more.

_I love you. Um, what's your name?_

* * *

**In case you're wondering, I have it on good authority that guys do sometimes experience, um, specific reactions if they get nervous. And Hank here, being so intelligent, counters his by rattling off unusual words. Since I can't imagine him thinking of baseball or something. And yes, it's going to be a running gag for a while. It just seems to fit him, I think.**

**Thanks to brigid1318 and MoonlitShadowsoftheHumanSoul for jumping into this story with both feet. Whatever kind of feet you may have. :)**

**Next up, of course, Hank and his lady love share a romantic getaway. Sorta.**


	3. An Intimate Date, uh, Meeting

I do not own X-Men: First Class.

Duh.

In the Beginning

Chapter 3: An Intimate Date, uh, Meeting

* * *

". . . ever since I was a little boy."

He was talking, rambling. Nervous and uncertain, but feeling the words spilling out of him because she was _listening_. Listening without laughter, without jibe, without doubt.

She was listening and in her beautiful blue eyes, he could see her compassion and understanding. And it was phenomenal what that was doing to his cerebral cortex and his limbic system. His entire body felt like it was rushing, surging with adrenaline and exhilaration. He could barely sit still.

He wasn't alone, he wasn't ridiculous, and he wasn't a joke.

It felt _great_.

Of course, it also might be due to a little bit of a sugar rush. He had brought cokes and Twinkies to share on this . . .

_. . . not a date, date, it's not a date . . . _

. . . meeting and had nervously ingested two while waiting for her.

And now here he was, spilling out his deepest secrets to this beautiful, bright creature who appeared to be rapt with attention and interest.

". . . give to feel . . . normal."

She said it with him and he froze in stunned delight. Then they smiled and laughed together.

Such a relief, such a _freedom_ to be understood and accepted.

And it felt _incredible_.

Even though he had no idea what to do with it.

He had seen television and observed other people respond to experiencing these reactions, of course. He knew what _they_ did. He just didn't know what _he_ should do.

Plus, a gentleman was always courteous and mannerly toward a lady. And she _was_ a lady. And he _was_ a gentleman. Very much a gentleman. Despite the other within him. The one connected to his feet, his mutation.

Then she spoke and sounded relieved to reveal her hidden thoughts.

"Charles has never understood. He's different, but he's never had to hide."

Hank nodded, glancing away for a moment. Yes, he understood him, this _Charles_, quite well. A pretty boy with money and class and sophistication whose mutation was internal. Who could use it as he pleased without alerting the world to it. And put it away as he chose. All the power with none of the shame.

Hank liked him fine, he really did. But a person like that could never understand what it would be like to be a person like him. Like her.

_Like us. _

The beautiful, soul-searching blonde before him drew him out of his wandering machinations again (probably didn't even know he'd been gone, that's how quick he was) by speaking of the _real_ reason they'd come here.

"Hank . . ."

_I love the way you say my name. Say it again._

". . . this serum that you're making, it doesn't affect abilities, right? Only appearance. Normalizes it," she clarified hesitantly.

He nodded.

Her ability. To shift her form to mimic that of others. It was scientifically amazing to see. She had demonstrated it briefly by morphing into Mr. Oliver. Whose stunned expression sent Hank into internal gales of laughter and an outward small smile.

_Who wouldn't want an ability like that? _

Except of course, that the true form that came with it made her feel odd, out of place.

After her 'magic trick' as Charles so eloquently put it, she'd morphed into her natural form. Blue scales. Yellow penetrating eyes. Slick red hair.

It was . . . different. Radical. Unnatural.

It wasn't ugly, per se. But this. Her blond haired, blue eyed, creamy skinned self. The one that looked like the perfect woman. The kind that never would talk to someone like him. And if one of those did, it was always negative. Pitying. Repulsed. Dismissive.

Not this woman. She was beautiful. Open. Kind. Engaging. To _him_.

But this form now, the one he'd first seen her in when she smiled. The one he'd imprinted on. The one he instantly loved. And as gentleman as Hank was, he had to admit this one, this form was vastly preferable. Alluring. Sexy.

It reposed before him now on the blanket he'd spread for their indoor picnic, uh, _meeting_.

She sat, legs demurely bent to the side, body tilted slightly to the right. He studiously chose not to notice how short her skirt was. Well, not _again_.

Because she was a lady and he was gentleman. And he, not the other, was in control.

And here he'd started wandering again. At least it was so quick within his synapses that she didn't seem to notice.

He nodded, murmuring his assent. He'd spoken to her of his serum because he wanted to be normal.

For himself.

Maybe for her.

And he needed her blood, her DNA to search for the answer further.

"Do you think it would work on me?"

She seemed so vulnerable, so tentatively hopeful.

He was thankful he could be honest and not have to lie to get what he wanted.

"I could look into it if you like," he offered generously, nodding and smiling.

_Of course, that would involve being around you more. Which would be a dream._

"I mean," he continued somewhat anxiously, "it's the least I can do after asking you to come down here with such a weird request."

He was rambling again and fidgety and self-conscious and he knew it. But she was smiling and laughing with him so maybe it was okay.

"Well, I have to admit when guys ask me out . . ."

_So this _is_ a date?_

". . . they're not usually after my blood."

That gave him pause even as the thought of other guys asking her out made him feel jealous and angry. Even as he remembered sheepishly trying to formulate a plausible opening line to request her company that didn't end with 'and will you marry me'.

"Sorry," he apologized, his nervousness and insecurity causing him to shift uncomfortably again. "I didn't intend to be forward . . ."

_I would never treat you as anything less than what you are. A beautiful, perfect creature._

"I was just . . . excited," he confessed somewhat sheepishly.

And he was. So happy and excited. Giddy as a schoolboy.

_I'm rambling again, I sound like an idiot, and now I am being forward . . ._

And she was still looking at him and smiling. He found it difficult to think when she was smiling. Or talking. Or breathing. Or existing.

_Oh help, okay, um, just keep talking, explain yourself quick, you fumbling idiot!_

"I mean, the nature of your mutation . . . if any genes hold the key to changing appearance . . . it's yours."

He was hopeful he didn't sound like a creepy, raving lunatic. Her clear blue eyes were still gazing straight into him.

"Hank . . ."

_Oh, she said it again. _

". . . you weren't being forward. That's kind of what I meant."

She spoke so gently, so kindly that he felt his anxiety, his nervousness actually slow down. He wanted to thank her for that but he couldn't find the words.

_It's okay. She doesn't think you're creepy. It's alright._

"No," he ventured, trying to think through her warm gaze and keep his crooked teeth hidden at the same time. "But . . . I'm just sorry if you thought I was."

Her eyes deepened then, turning a darker blue than before.

"I'm sorry that you weren't," she purred a little quieter, her voice deepening into an even more sultry tone.

_Gentleman, gentleman, I'm a gentleman._

_Naw, you're a beast._

_Shut up . . ._

She shifted up on her knees, resting her forearm on one of his crisscrossed thighs.

_Oh, she's . . . touching . . . me._

Her face was now mere inches from his. Open. Vulnerable. She was so close he could lean forward and kiss her if he chose.

"Go ahead," she murmured. "Take the blood."

For a infinite second, he couldn't process anything beyond the proximity of her face to his, light scent of her perfume, and her arm laying across his leg.

Then part of his body kicked in . . .

_Oh boy . . ._

Causing his mental defense mechanism to respond immediately . . .

_. . . amblygon, selcouth, deisidiamonia . . ._

And finally his brain rebooted. He blinked rapidly. Carefully grasping her right arm and pushing up the sleeve . . .

_I'm touching her. She's letting me._

. . . to expose the smooth, creamy skin of her forearm.

_. . . vernorexia, huderon, pataphysics . . ._

His hands worked on autopilot, having taken blood samples from himself and other willing male participants (though never like this exactly) for testing before. His runaway heart pounded erratically in his thin chest and deafened ears even as his mouth suddenly dried up more arid than the Sahara.

He carefully dabbed a cotton ball dampened with alcohol onto her arm and restrained himself from blowing on moistened flesh.

_I could never do that. Me?_

And picked up the needle.

Suddenly the moment was filled with too much symbolism. Him penetrating her skin (was he the first to needle her? Could it be too much to ask that she had not been 'needled' by other men?), the pinch of discomfort on her lovely face . . .

"Sorry," he murmured apologetically, removing the needle from her arm, his needed blood sample obtained. "Did I hurt you?"

_Too much . . . symbolism . . . can't take . . . much more of this . . ._

To which she unbelievably responded by leaning forward, bringing her soft, plump lips closer. Her beautiful blue eyes slipped closed and his breath caught in his throat.

_Oh . . . my . . ._

"Kinky."

_Whthf?_

The reserved, predatorial-looking man, Erik, was standing silently before them, having caught Hank in the most exotic moment of his entire life. His cool gaze, virtually skewered Hank for his ridiculousness even as it switched to her.

Drinking her in even as it skinned her for her vulnerability.

And called out to her in the most direct way.

"By the way, if I looked like you, I wouldn't change a thing."

And then, gifting Hank with another acerbic glance, dismissively walked away.

And the moment was, irretrievably, over.

* * *

**Alrighty, awkward enough for you? Oh dear, our young, inexperienced Hank is doing the best he can, isn't he? I just don't think he is going to make it. Haha.**

**Thanks to brigid1318 and MoonlitShadowsoftheHumanSoul for reviewing and thanks to The Clara Oswin Oswald for adding your support to this retelling.**


	4. Labrats and Hair Follicles

I do not own X-Men: First Class.

Duh.

In the Beginning

Chapter 4: Labrats and Hair Follicles

* * *

Once upon a time, before Mr. Oliver had unleashed the power of Hank's mind onto it, it had been but a simple radar installation device. Outside on the green, fenced-in lawn of the Institute.

And then Hank McCoy and his genius had descended upon it.

Now it was an extraordinarily engineered transmitter, uniquely redesigned to amplify brain waves. A marriage between machine and man. Just the thing for a powerful mutant telepath like Charles Xavier.

Completely ignoring the fact that its outer shell resembled a giant golf ball, Hank absolutely loved it.

Carrying along with the theme of perfectly naming his most beloved creations, he had struck far and wide to settle on just the right moniker. It had finally come to him in the dead of night as he lay asleep in his bed. He had been dreaming of walking barefoot (_normal_, his feet looked _normal_) on a sandy beach in the warm sun hand in hand with a beautiful dark haired woman wearing a blue and orange bikini.

Then he had sat straight up with one word glowing like a beacon in his mind.

Cerebro.

And now, years later, it was finally going to be properly tested.

The day was sunny and bright, making the walls seem to glow and the space appear larger than it actually was. The slightly raised platform in the center was overhung with the main apparatus itself. An opaque helmet with a mass of wires and cables protruding from it.

Not very aesthetically pleasing perhaps, but then again, Hank McCoy was not concerned with aesthetics just yet.

He want to see if it would actually work.

And now he had that chance.

His mind and body were revving and charged with the excitement and anticipation that only a scientist, a discoverer, a _seeker_ could understand.

The Blackbird needed no special mutant abilities to demonstrate its fantastic aerial capabilities. Hank, monkey feet or no, was enough.

But this machine required more. One who could control and manipulate the very functions of the brain itself.

That one being Charles Xavier. He of the tweed jacket and stunningly gorgeous sister.

They ascended up into the space now as Hank virtually flitted about the small structure, laying his hands on each of the five stations that powered the machine, involved in final preparations for what was to be a ground-breaking experiment.

Charles Xavier, a primly vested adult and professor to boot, was practically bouncing with elation. Erik dressed dark and grim, stood vulture thin and sphinxlike, as seemed to fit his chosen fharacter.

And her. Raven. Her countenance open yet again in wonder (and was that a little fear?), her perfect form adorned in a dark, long sleeved blouse and a black and white polka dotted skirt. Once again, teasingly short.

_Aren't those long, shapely legs cold? But please, no, don't cover them up on account of me. I will manage._

To avoid any embarrassing awkwardness, Hank stuck to addressing the man he was willing to forgive for outing him on his monkey-toes. If only he would make this brilliant mechanism of Hank's work.

"I named it 'Cerebro'," he stated with a mixture of self-consciousness and pride. "As in Spanish for brain."

Charles, an endlessly jovial man, chuckled with apparent glee, nodding his humor toward him. Hank took it all in stride, feeling the telepath's energy and eagerness practically radiating out in waves.

_Oh, come on. It's totally copasetic, _he mentally countered, feeling uncharacteristically confident and jaunty.

The feeling in the air was electric. And not just because of the high voltage operating throughout the structure.

But also due to the anticipation of discovery, of science. Of possibility.

_Besides, what would you prefer, Mr. Tweed? 'Cerveau'? French might be a little pretentious, don't you think?_

They gathered around in awe, staring at the mechanical marvel that Hank McCoy had created. Charles seemed positively vibrating to get his hands on it, hopping up on the platform as Hank spoke and peering up into the inner shell of the helmet.

She was there too. And looking at him again, so he had concentrate on his words and focus on explaining the process they were about to engage in. He spoke rapidly, eager to get on with the long awaited experiment.

"Okay, so the electrodes connect Charles to the transmitter on the roof. When he picks up a mutant, his brain then sends a signal through a relay and then the coordinates for their location are printed out there."

He walked as he talked, gesturing with his pen, swimming in the warm, familiar waters of his expertise. Allowing the confident scientist in him to buoy up the insecure boy that so often clung to the shallow end of the adventure of life.

Charles advanced directly onto the helmet station itself while shrewd, observant Erik peered at the monitors and levels of the main control panel.

Hank felt rather than saw her approaching as he checked the settings for the dozenth time.

"You designed this?" she asked, sounding rather amazed.

_Why, yes, I did, my angel. Are you impressed? It's quite the astounding, isn't it? Like you._

But the best he could manage was to glance into her eyes briefly and murmur a barely audible 'yeah . . .'

_Ah well, a stunning response indeed, Casanova,_ the voice inside him jibed.

_Oh shut up._

She stayed next to him, watching him making final preparations, asking a few intelligent questions which he managed to answer easily enough so long as didn't breathe in her light perfume too deeply.

Was it only yesterday that he'd met her? And already he loved every single thing about her. This beautiful blond woman at his side.

He quite enjoyed engaging his science with her, feeling renewed exhilaration that she was taking an interest in his work.

Though it was probably more because she was concerned that he would accidently fry her brother's synapses into strawberry preserves.

So confident and happy was he that he barely had to wrap himself at all in the security blanket of his craft to manage her steady gaze.

Turning, Hank advanced back toward the waiting Charles and doubting-Thomas Erik, the pair of them gently bickering like an old married couple.

". . . been a labrat. I know one when I see one."

_Don't dissuade my specimen, Erik. Er, I mean, friend._

He checked the helmet atop Charles' head once more, mumbling to himself. The ever vigilant Erik peered fixedly at Charles who seemed to be reveling in the grandeur and possibility of the moment as much as Hank himself was.

Hank paused, calculating the possibility of an even greater boost to the transistor's successfulness. He had of course mentioned it before and the notion had been swiftly rejected. Now, as the moment drew ever nigh, maybe Charles could still be convinced.

_Oh come on, you know he's going to say 'no'. I mean, look at that glossy mane._

_But it would be so much more effective. And it's just hair anyway._

_Easy words coming from a guy who looks the Scarecrow from Oz._

_Hey, I resent that. I don't fall down near so much anymore._

_Well, go ahead and ask him then, Eyebrows._

"Sure we can't shave your head?"

He received the answer he expected. Mild and mannerly as it was.

"Don't touch my hair."

_Girl. Sorry, Raven._

Only slightly abashed, Hank turned away and positioned himself at the main console.

Hawk-eyed Erik and the beautiful Raven remained close to Charles, watchful of his safety and reaction to the electrical surges about to fire their way through his brain tissue.

Hank powered up the machine and, taking a breath and praying to all that was good and pure in science, activated Cerebro.

And it worked. Perfectly.

* * *

**So Hank's not a total wet mop then. Well sorta.**

**In my re-re-re-rewatching of First Class and reading I've Been a Labrat's hysterical prose, I've made yet another Hank/Raven tribute video called 'All in My Head'. It's posted on Youtube if you care to watch. And no, it's totally not serious. :)**

**Thanks to brigid1318 and MoonlitShadowsoftheHumanSoul for your enthusiasm and to ABewilderedBear (kinda describes Hank huh I'm totally using that, sweetie) for jumping on this little love train Hank's attempting to drive.**

**What happens next? Oh, I think you know. Especially a certain fangirl whom I'm sure has been waiting on pins and needles for a blond haired pretty boy to show up and torture the living daylights out of our Hank. *winks**


	5. No Twinkies for Alex

I do not own X-Men: First Class

Duh.

In the Beginning

Chapter 5: No Twinkies for Alex

* * *

Cerebro, combined with Charles Xavier's fantastic mutant ability, worked. Really worked. So well in fact that now they had lists and lists of identified mutants for their records.

Records that Erik, and Charles by default, had been most adamant should be kept away from Mr. Oliver and all others like him.

And Hank, a loyal man to be sure, had reluctantly agreed. It felt wrong to him to be keeping such important things from his director. But as Charles had so clearly and sincerely pointed out, they must be careful not to intrude upon these people and make spectacles of them.

The idea was to reach out, not attack.

Though it did seem that Charles was quickly developing an obsession with using Cerebro. Apparently the surge of adrenaline he experienced during his sessions was powerfully euphoric. It was almost like a drug to him.

Which didn't really bother Hank as much as he supposed it such have. After all, the opportunity to study Charles' brain waves under the influence of Cerebro was highly fascinating to say the least.

As Hank was sure Erik would have replied if put to the question, Charles made such a willingly adorable lab rat.

And so Hank complied with the request to secrecy, remembering how he'd felt about everyone finding out about his mutation.

It had taken several days for Charles and Erik to gather the first batch of participants to bring to the Institute.

They were young, they were unsure, and they were each very powerful in their own right.

And they were all gathered together now in the same room. Hank sat with them, on the very same couch as Raven . . .

_Yeah, I'm sitting right here next to her. I belong. I'm good, I'm cool._

. . . and they were all chatting over cokes and snacks. Though no Twinkies.

_Mmm, I don't know if you guys are Twinkie-worthy yet. We'll have to see. Except you, Raven. You can have all the Twinkies you want. All of them. Well, maybe just one for me._

There were six of them in all now, including himself and his Raven.

Angel, a beautiful dark-skinned woman, with exotic features and a surprisingly demure demeanor. Considering where they'd claimed to have found her.

Darwin, a tall, wiry man who surely could have procured more lucrative employment than taxicab driver if he'd only tried. Then again, with the world the way it was, it was easy to understand why he had kept at such a mundane job.

Sean, a freckle-faced, red-haired guy who took every single thing in stride and was just around to have fun. He'd laugh with you or at you with no problem at all. Nothing appeared to faze him.

And of course, him. Alex Summers. A handsome blond guy who was too cool for school. Well, _prison_. Alex, who reminded Hank of every bully who had ever beat him up. With his sullen, casually dismissive personality.

Hank was trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. Or stay out of his space. He hadn't quite decided yet.

Not all the mutants Charles and Erik had made contact with had chosen to join them.

Apparently, there had been another. Some hairy, gruff, surly individual with a chip on his shoulder and a panache for cigars and whiskey. Hank was quietly relieved that that man had refused. He didn't really relish the notion of spreading any amount of time at all with such a harsh, crass character.

And now here they all were at the Institute. Together in the same room.

Initially they had been a little quiet and awkward around each other.

_Hi, I'm a freaky mutant. You? Yeah? Okay, excellent._

Of course dear, lovely Raven could always be counted on to light the mood. And shorten her skirt.

"We should think of codenames. We're government agents now, we should have secret codenames," she enthused confidently.

_Oh, my lovely lady, that is so cute. But we haven't done anything to warrant being government agents, have we? Well, except me. I invent stuff._

"I want to be called 'Mystique'," she announced with absolute certainty.

_Because the probability of your great beauty and pure soul combined is so statistically unlikely?_

Which led to Sean's perfectly timed comedic retort.

". . . wanted to be called 'Mystique'," he jibed.

They all chuckled together, Hank enjoying the quiet feeling of being part of an accepted group.

"Well, tough, I called it," Raven replied jauntily, morphing into an exact replica of Sean himself.

Hank jumped back a little, still caught off guard by her 'magic trick'.

_Um, does this make me gay now? _

"And I'm way more mysterious than you," she concluded happily.

The others jumped, then ogled, and then clapped as she returned to her beautiful blond form.

_Whew, that's better._

But glowing Raven wasn't done yet. Apparently riding high on a wave of exhilaration and freedom at being around other mutants, she opened up the lines of communication with the ease of a bubbly camp counselor. He guessed. He had never been to a camp. They made you take off your shoes at camp.

"What about you, Darwin?"

The friendly, confident, African-American man . . .

_Can I call you 'Sammy Davis, Jr.'?_

. . . shrugged a little as he replied.

"Well, uh, Darwin's already a nickname and, you know, sort of fits. Adapt to survive and all."

Then he got up, his muscles flexing under his blue turtleneck and headed off.

"Check this out," he directly coolly.

Then to Hank's shock and glee, he stuck his head in the fish tank and after a second, grew giant gills along his jawline. He even breathed through them like they'd always been there.

_Oh, may I PLEASE run some experiments on you?! _

His rapt audience clapped and cheered even as Hank tried to remain, clapping along and declaring 'well done, that was incredible', as smoothly as he could.

Then Darwin mutant-tagged Sean by pointing and saying, "What about you?"

Sean Cassidy, an apparent showman as well, seemed to relish his moment of glory before replying.

"I'm going to be . . . Banshee."

_That's, um . . . lame._

Hank posed the obvious question as kindly as he could.

"Why would you want to be named after a wailing spirit?"

And Sean showed them. Hank was sure the ginger had been aiming for the soda glasses on the table. But unfortunately he shattered the entire plate glass window twelve feet away.

_Thank goodness I covered my ears like he said. Bleeding out of ruptured eardrums would not be attractive to Raven. I don't think._

Then, looking at the broken window . . .

_Oh boy, we are going to be in so much trouble . . ._

"Your turn," Sean requested, pointing to Angel as everyone else laughed at destruction of private property.

Her beautiful smile radiated as she stood up, slightly self-effacing as she spoke lightly.

"My stage name is Angel," she admitted, taking off her jacket to reveal a knitted black halter top for Sean to whistle at and turned her back.

What appeared to be dragonfly-like wing tattoos grew out of shoulders and upper arms and she levitated off the floor. The wings were iridescent and made fluttery sounds as she hovered.

_Oh, wow. You're . . . gorgeous . . . I mean, I still love _you_, Raven . . ._

"You can fly?!" the blond beauty beside him burst out, clearly thrilled.

Angel concurred lightly and then astounded them even more by turning and spitting a tiny fireball out of her mouth onto the courtyard statue. Its head exploded into rolling flames for a split second.

This time Hank was too captivated to consider the consequences of setting a statue of the founder of the Institute's metal head on fire.

Then, redonning her jacket, Angel turned to him.

"What's your name?"

_Uhhh . . ._

_Beast._

_Shut up._

"How about Bigfoot?" Alex chimed in, gesturing at Hank's overlarge shoes.

And there it was. The fun, the growing comradery, gone in an instant.

Hank was an unaccepted freak all over again. Even among unaccepted freaks.

His body language automatically changed as he turned away from the group, hunching in on himself and drawing into his shell once more.

It was then that his beautiful, perfect, ethereal Raven rescued him.

"Well, you know what they say about guys with big feet," she countered coolly, skewering the cocky young man with her icy blue gaze.

Everybody paused, alert, to watch the crushing defeat of Alex Summers. Even Hank himself, watching over his shoulder warily.

"And, uh, yours are kinda small," she observed sharply for all the room to hear.

As everyone laughed good-naturedly, Hank's sickened, cold stomach was immediately warmed by a flood of surging emotions.

No one ever stood up for him. Not him. He was always left alone to fend for himself in these situations. Without friend or ally. But now . . .

He managed to glance at her shyly an appreciative smile heedlessly forming on his lips and Raven, the effervescent social butterfly, smiled shyly back at him.

_Thank you, my angel. I love you._

* * *

**Yeah, the title is implied here. 'Cause I do that.**

**Thanks to MoonlitShadowsoftheHumanSoul, ABewilderedBear, and brigid1318 for reviewing.**

**Well, the brown matter is about to hit the fan here. 'Cause heroes can't be happy apparently. **


	6. Opportune Moments

I do not own X-Men: First Class.

Duh.

In the beginning

Chapter 6: Opportune Moments

* * *

As Hank was drawn back into the acceptance of the circle by his beautiful Raven's eloquent verbal guillotining of Alex's manhood, the gregarious Darwin posed his question to a slightly skewered Alex.

"Alex, what is your gift? What can you do?"

_Gift? Is that what these mutations are? Maybe for you guys but that's not how I would define mine. It's more like a curse . . ._

_Hey, I heard that, Science Boy. _

_I know. You always do._

_You know, you've never given me enough credit. Let me show you how awesome we can be toget-_

_No. Go away. _

Amid the internal quarrel in his head, Hank heard Alex respond with uncharacteristic timidity.

"Uh, it's not, um, I can't . . . I just can't do it," he mumbled self-consciously. "I can't do it in here."

He seemed . . . embarrassed? Shy? Ashamed? Afraid?

_Ah man, don't make me have _compassion_ for you. Don't show me our common ground . . ._

But Darwin was not to be refused.

"Well, can you do it out there?" he pushed.

_Yes, I'm fairly certain he can be an anal sphincter anywhere. _

Alex hesitated and Darwin started clapping and chanting his name. The others took up the encouragement with glee and gusto.

Hank couldn't help but smile at them. Here he had been cast out of the circle and Raven had drawn him back in. Then Alex had thrown himself out but now they were reeling him back in as well.

_Is this what it's like to have friends? Your imperfections laid out to humble you and then accepted and forgiven all in one fell swoop?_

It seemed like a concept Hank could get behind, embrace.

Even his lovely Raven seconds before had expressed contempt for the blond man and now she was chanting and clapping along with everyone else, a big grin on her youthful face.

Finally, annoyed, Alex succumbed to the joyful peer pressure, rising grimly from his seat and stalking toward the open window.

"Get down when I tell you."

_Why? What are you going to do? Insult the entire planet at lightning speed?_

The others practically leapt from their seats and dashed to the window to observe the impending performance. Hank remained seated a moment longer until Sean glanced down at him expectantly.

_What? Oh, right, I'm part of a group now. Okay._

So he hopped up too and reflexively placed himself next to his Raven, her face aglow with excitement and curiosity.

They practically hung themselves out the shattered window watching Alex set himself toward the already damaged statue.

"Get back," he intoned at them darkly.

As a cohesive unit, they reversed out of view . . .

_Hey, this _is_ kind of fun . . ._

. . . for about a second before collectively leaning back out for a clearer shot of the impending action.

Alex adamantly waved them back again.

"Get back!" he insisted.

_Ha ha, make us, you scrawny punk. _

When they stubbornly didn't move, he reset himself with a glare and a mumble.

Then, against all explainable laws of science and nature, he rotated his arms in sweeping motions with a grimace and a grunt, producing red power rings from his core and flinging them at the statue.

_Holy sh-_

He hit it (along with leaving scorch marks on half the surrounding walls) and horizontally sliced it clear in half. The torso fell with a metal thud to the grass.

As everyone else burst into gales of excitement and applause, Hank stood frozen in place.

_I . . . I . . . I take it all back . . . Can I do experiments on _you_?_

While the voice of the other quipped, _Yep, that'd send you to prison alright_.

* * *

The previously quiet, stuffy rec room was a-rockin'.

When the jukebox changed to a bopper, Raven enthusiastically jumped up onto one of the black leather couches and started dancing.

Hank, swept up by the thrill of discovery and acceptance, was struck with a nearly uncontrollable urge to approach her, dashingly sweep her into his arms in a low dancing dip, and kiss her beautiful lips finally once and for all in front of everybody.

Instead, he released some of his pent-up energy by flinging off his shoes and socks and dangling himself from the main set of light fixtures. The other inside him cheered with approval and together they rocked the party.

". . . shake it to the left, you shake it to the right . . ."

Angel happily flutter-danced in the air to his left, drink in hand. Raven's bright laughter bounced off the walls as she clapped her hands in delight.

Alex and Sean entertained themselves taking turns launching attacks upon Darwin, who lived up to his nickname by instinctively growing defensive armour plates on his body. He shouted encouragements to his attackers, mocking their lack of strength. They laughed and high-fived each other.

Somewhere in the back of Hank's mind, the introverted, frightened young boy who had always been taught to hide and be ashamed, nervously muttered that they shouldn't be behaving this way. It was inappropriate. It was wrong. They were going to get caught.

But Hank, in a fit of wild abandonment, let the whining lad's pleadings be drowned out by the music, by the excitement, by the freedom of the moment.

It felt so good. It was the first time he'd ever been so free with other people. Or himself.

It. Was. _Awesome_.

"What are you doing?!"

The female voice was irate, furious. It yanked Hank out of his fantastic mutant high and he jerked, startled.

He released his prehensile grip of the light fixture and flipped, landing feet first on the floor, gasping for air.

The CIA agent, Moira, was standing outside the broken window, her hands on her hips, face stormy.

Charles and Erik stood on either side of her, silent and disapproving.

_Oh crap._

"Who destroyed the statue?!" she demanded.

All of Hank's exhilaration died in an instant. And the cloying, suffocating choke chain of adult responsibility and forced maturity wrapped around his throat once more, cutting off his air, his joy, his light.

Hank stuffed his hands deep in his pants pockets, instinctively drawing himself tighter, more rigid. He could not wait to get his socks and shoes back on.

"It was Alex," he blurted out in the brutal face of authority.

He vaguely thought his voice sounded different to him. Probably just nerves.

He was only dimly aware of Alex's betrayed gesture thrown toward him and his confession as the guilty group moved closer together for unity.

Raven, however, was not to be denied her deserved fun and genius.

"No," she replied, still grinning. "_'Havok'_. We have to call him 'Havok' now."

And stepping toward the three grim-faced adults, she pointed at each man in turn. Starting with her angry mutant-brother.

"And we were thinking," she announced with great pride and aplomb, "that you should be 'Professor X'."

Then she turned her attention upon the blank-faced Erik.

"And you should be 'Magneto'."

_No, no, no, don't tell them! They're going to think it's stupid!_

There was an infinite second of dead silence where in Hank mentally curled up and died of absolute shame.

Then Erik, his face still carefully blank, spoke one word.

"Exceptional."

Hank didn't have time to guess his meaning because Charles launched his proper, sternly disappointed tone at his mutant-sister, causing her to visibly wilt.

"I expect more from you."

And they strode off in a huff, leaving behind six slightly diminished mutants who only moments before had felt as though they held the world in the palms of their hands.

* * *

Raven had excused herself to the ladies' room directly thereafter, her downcast blue eyes very bright and watery.

Hank had wanted to go after her, comfort her somehow. Hold her protectively to him, allow her to cry on his plaid-shirted shoulder. Blow her nose on his stuffy (yeah, he knew it) tie perhaps. Cup her soft face in his gentle hands, wiping her tears away with his fingertips, and lovingly kiss her smooth forehead and reddened cheeks as well.

After all, she would have done the same for him had their roles been reversed.

But he didn't really know how to have the courage to do any of those things.

So she left and he stayed. And helped the others clean up the mess.

They were a quiet for a little while, working in silence. Someone even turned off the jukebox.

Raven returned, somewhat subdued, but in control of her emotions.

She helped them finish the cleanup and then they all retired quietly to their rooms for the evening.

Hank wanted to escort her to her room if only to be in her beatific presence a little longer. Despite what she had said, he was still cautious about being too forward, so he casually timed his exit so that they 'naturally' fell in step together.

She glanced up at him and fleetingly gifted him one of her lovely smiles.

"Hi," he managed.

"Hey."

They walked along in silence and Hank realized the fatal flaw in his brilliant plan.

He didn't know how to talk to women.

She was a bit withdrawn at the moment and without her bubbliness to buoy him up, his internal charm and wit were sinking faster than the Titanic.

They arrived at her door all too quickly and Hank found he was still at a loss for words.

On the outside at least.

"Um . . ."

_Tell her she's pretty._

_Well . . ._

_Tell her you love her!_

_I, uh . . ._

_Tell her you want to have her babies!_

_Okay, now that's just physiologically impossible._

_Come on, tell her _something_!_

"Well, good night, Raven . . ."

_Your name tastes like honey on my lips._

_There, that! Say that!_

". . . I hope you sleep well."

_I would hold you all night long if it would make you happy again._

_Yes, that! Say that then!_

But Hank McCoy had stopped talking and closed his mouth.

She looked at him, a hint of something beautiful in her eyes.

He waited.

_Kiss her!_

She waited, searching his face.

_Hug her!_

He gazed upon her beauty.

_Take her hand!_

He wondered at her inner machinations.

_Do something! Anything!_

But he did not.

After a long moment, she smiled a sad little smile and spoke gently. He hung on with hopeful anticipation to her words with baited breath.

"Goodnight, Hank."

He nodded and when she slowly opened and closed her door, it was all he could do not to drive his head through it in frustration.

_Oh, way to go, Tiger!_

_Oh shut up._

And then Hank retreated to his room and closed himself within. Though his thoughts and emotions stayed with her.

* * *

**Okay, okay. Let me clarify. Hank is not schizophrenic. He's just got what some of us may call an 'inner idiot' that argues with him. And if you don't understand this because you don't have one, then good for you. You go right along and have a quiet head.**

**And if you notice, NH totally said 'It was Alex' in his regular, English accent. Heh, heh. I had to throw that in there 'cause he's usually so good at keeping in character. *blows a kiss* Sorry, sweetie.**

**After they get caught acting like regular teenagers (oh gasp, not _that_ *rolls eyes), the rest of the chapter is all me. No deleted scene, just me. Hope it's still in character enough for you.**

**Thanks to brigid1318, ABewilderedBear, and MoonlitShadowsoftheHumanSoul for reviewing. You are very loyal to my Hank. Our Hank. Hank.**

**Up next, the Fellowship of the Ring falls apart. Wait . . .**


	7. Calm Before the Storm

I do not own X-men: First Class

Duh.

In the Beginning

Chapter 7: Calm Before the Storm

* * *

The shattered plate glass window had been repaired and reluctant apologies made.

Life had moved on.

Charles, Erik, and Moira had left that morning on a top secret mission to Russia. Which was absolutely all the information any of them had.

And Hank didn't like that. Neither did Raven. He could tell.

Hank was making preparations to study Raven's blood to determine if there was anything within her unique cells that might hold the key to solving their mutual aesthetic problem.

Raven herself had been incommunicado the entire day, keeping to herself. Hank, for lack of a better idea, had let her.

So it was the next evening they were gathered together again.

They were in sort of a holding pattern. Waiting for something to happen. Waiting for the next step, the next shoe to drop.

But at the present moment, all was quiet and peaceful in the rec room.

Mostly.

Alex was currently annihilating Darwin's high score at the pinball machine in the corner, dings and bells cutting through the otherwise quiet environment. Each one signaled points scored in Alex's favor.

There were a lot. Apparently, he had had a lot of free time at some point in his life to become adept at playing a mean pinball.

And Hank McCoy, well, he was dunking his cookies.

Literally. Oreos. In a tall glass of whole milk.

Sean sprawled languidly on the leather couch next to him, a small collection of cookie crumbs collecting on the front of his grey shirt.

Raven, clothed in yet another super short black dress and with a little cleavage showing as an added bonus . . .

_. . . not that I'm noticing, nope, I'm a gentleman, a gentleman . . ._

. . . was sitting across from him. Angel, in an equally short skirt, perched beside her . . .

_What are you women trying to _do_ to me . . ._

. . . and all four of them were very quiet.

He thought of striking up a discussion, a debate, something lighthearted and fun.

_Luminiferous aether, perhaps? Or maybe the Phlogiston Theory?_

But he suspected his present audience would be less than enthused to discuss either of those topics and he didn't care to lecture like some stuffy professor.

So Hank, scientific genius and social pariah, concentrated on his cookie.

It was delicious.

The milk softened it just right, soaking into the chocolate wafers and creamy vanilla filling.

_Is there anything better in the world? Besides Twinkies? And Raven?_

He munched contently, glad the sugary concoction filled up his mouth enough that he did not have to attempt to talk.

And then the suits arrived.

"Hey, I didn't know the circus was in town," one quipped nastily to the other. "Come on honey, give us a little . . ."

He cruelly mimed fluttering wings, his leering eyes cutting through the glass like lasers. At least his companion had the good sense to look embarrassed. Though it would have been better if he had actually spoken up and stopped him.

Then the moronic agent descended onto Hank.

"Come on, let's see the foot," he jibed.

Hank, still chewing the now tasteless cookie, stood up and approached the window. Much to the glee of the government suited idiot.

"There it is, come on Bigfoot, let's go . . ."

Hank looked directly into the man's sneering eyes, mock-saluted . . .

_Congratulations, sir, you've just lost your job. I guarantee it. Not for me, mind you, but for her._

. . . and closed the blinds.

He resumed his seat, still chewing . . .

_Doesn't this cookie ever end . . ._

. . . and glanced furtively at Angel and Raven.

Raven was attempting to comfort Angel.

"They're just guys acting stupid."

Angel sighed.

"Guys acting stupid I can handle, okay? I've handled it my whole life."

_What had happened to her? Who had treated her so badly? And for what possible reason?_

Raven's looked at Angel, her compassion radiating out through her blue eyes. Hank tried not to be swept away by her gentle nature and instead attempted to concentrate on the everlasting Oreo cookie.

Angel continued, bits of anger and disdain clinging to the words she spat out of her mouth.

"But I'd rather have guys stare at me with my clothes off than the way these ones stare at me," she concluded.

As Angel spoke, Hank noticed a little bit of Raven's bright inner light was fading a little.

"At us," she replied sadly.

It hurt Hank to see two such lovely, sweet creatures, feeling like outsiders, like freaks.

He wished he could say something. Tell both the creamy skinned Raven and the darkly lovely Angel that they shouldn't bother themselves with such low and base creatures. That those men were not worthy to look upon them.

That they should be treated as equals, as the intelligent, beautiful women that they were.

But his mouth was still full of cookie and he was after all, only Hank McCoy.

And Hank McCoy did not know how to say those sorts of things.

_One day, I'll be socially skillful. I'll speak tall and proud and confident and people will listen to me and respect me. They'll look up to me. And when they do, I'll treat them kindly, gently. With dignity and sincerity. One day._

As he was vowing to one day create this improved version of Henry Phillip McCoy, he became aware of an odd, reoccurring sound.

"What is that?" he heard Darwin intone behind him.

And then the shoe dropped.

Or rather, the body.

* * *

**This and the next chapter were originally going to be one big chapter. But I cut them up a little.**

**I never noticed the Hank and the Oreos thing before, being too excited about the upcoming Azazel scene. Guess he was temporarily mistressing them over the Twinkies? Also, I'm curious as to how many of those Oreos NH ate during the course of filming that scene, knowing that they usually do multiple takes. Hope he didn't get an upset tum-tum. (Yes, I'm an idiot, shut up!)**

**And also, whole milk? *shudders* I can't even **_**remember**_** whole milk though I'm sure I drank it as a child. Ha.**

**Well, thanks to MoonlitShadowsoftheHumanSoul, ABewilderedBear, and brigid1318 for continuing to read and review the story. I hope it is enjoyable and satisfying to your X-Men palates.**


	8. Decimation of the World

I do not own X-men: First Class

Duh.

In the Beginning

Chapter 8: Decimation of the World

* * *

It was raining men.

Literally.

Government agents were inexplicably falling from the skies. They screamed as they fell. Screams that abruptly cut off as they landed with brutal crunches upon the lawn and the roof above the heads of the terrified mutants. Their bones cracking and shattering, blood spilling out upon the ground, lives extinguished.

And the first one he'd seen was Mr. Oliver. He fell to the ground right outside their window with a thud and broken cracks.

But Hank couldn't process that just yet.

He also couldn't process the screams of his fellow mutants, their terror, their helplessness. He couldn't process Raven backing up against him in abject fear. He couldn't process them reflexively cowering down as the unseen enemy closed in on all sides.

He couldn't process the government agents outside dying in their attempts to protect them from a red devilish-looking man brandishing twin blades and a long red tail.

He couldn't process the window shattering amid the gunfire or the seemingly purposeful cyclone destroying his beloved Cerebro and turning maliciously toward them.

Nor could he process brave Darwin shielding them with his adaptive body as they all cowered in fear on the floor.

He couldn't do anything but react.

When Darwin broke for the door, he followed. A part of him babbling incoherently in terror, a part of him keeping track of all of his new acquaintances, friends at any and every given moment. Especially Raven and her location in regard to his own.

_Keep you safe. I must keep you safe. But how? I can't even keep myself safe right now._

_Yes, you can, _the other inside him whispered. We_ can. Fling off this unnecessary, constricting footwear, let me free, and we can help them! We can all help them. Together._

_No, I can't. I don't know how._

_I can show you._

_No._

Escape proved futile as the well-meaning soldiers turned them back, insisting they could keep them safe.

_They can't. They're going to die. We are too. Let me out. _

_No._

The entire building trembled as a massive explosion rumbled somewhere within. Their screams reverberated off the walls, the ceiling, the floors.

_They are coming._

_I know._

_Let me out!_

_No!_

Scrambling back to the room they'd just run from, Hank lost his balance and slid into a table. He struggled to regain his footing.

_Get up and fight!_

_I can't!_

_Yes, you can!_

The black-haired devil was murdering soldiers left and right, using his weapons, his tail to do it. Even using them against each other. And the cyclone. The cyclone was getting closer, yet holding its moorings solidly.

_Cyclones don't that_, Hank observed vaguely amid the panic and the terror.

The opposite window shattered, a lifeless body having been flung through it. They were coming. The black-haired devil and an exotic-looking man in a suit having appeared as the cyclone disappated.

There was nowhere else for them to hide. They were trapped. They were dead.

At the hands of their own kind. Mutants.

The soldiers were at their last defenses.

And then those defenses crumbled.

"Wait, wait, wait. You want the mutants?" a voice begged desperately from outside the closed door. "They're right through that door. Just let us normal people go! We're no threat . . ."

_Wish I hadn't heard that._

Then the speaker died.

And gentle Hank could not find it in his shell-shocked soul to grieve for him.

The door open and closed as if someone calmly arriving for a dinner party and before them stood a dark suited man wearing an bizarre-looking metal helmet.

* * *

Sebastian Shaw.

An unassuming man. With deadly cohorts and a tongue of liquid gold words.

". . . live like kings," he had said.

To rule. To be in charge. To never be mocked, talked down to, or disregarded. Ever again.

To be exalted. Venerated. Revered. Acclaimed.

Precisely chosen words susurrused like smooth honey over a poisoned apple, meant to entrance their specific desires in turn and twist them until they could no longer distinguish right from wrong.

Hank, though afraid, confused, and desperate, could see through the powerful, manipulative words and into the soul of darkness. It was a soul black and rotten with the senseless deaths of any and all who dared stand in its way.

He would not be fooled into the service of this slinking creature in human form.

_But what if she is? What will you do then?_

_Stop her._

_How?_

_I don't know._

He held the man's gaze as long as he could, willing him not to turn his silver tongue upon his Raven. But when he dropped his gaze, the man turned to the dark, petite beauty next to him.

". . . and queens."

And she, Angel, beautiful dragonfly-winged Angel, hesitated. Then took the proffered hand of Sebastian Shaw and he tenderly began to lead her away.

Those that remained called out to her, beseeching.

But she had made her decision, her sad, hurt eyes deadening to the slaughter around them.

Hank felt fury and hate swell up within him.

_No, not her! She doesn't deserve your lies, your trickery! She's been through too much! _

_Well, then, stop her!_

_I can't._

But Darwin could try. And he did. He held out his hand to her, silently calling her back. Hank couldn't see his face but was sure it was pleading as much as his own.

But she turned away and climbed through the window, hand in hand with the Shaw, the unassuming monster.

"We have to do something," Raven murmured in quiet desperation.

And Darwin did. He turned to Alex, a silent exchange passing between them that Hank could not exactly interpret. They exchanged blows and then Darwin turned away as well.

"Stop," he called out confidently. "I'm coming with you."

Hank was too dumbfounded, too shocked to move.

Darwin's statement seemed to please Angel and her new companions.

Shaw moved forward, smooth as a slithering eel.

As the two men spoke, Alex slowly ambled toward the center of the room. The others followed him. No one save Alex and Darwin knew the plan but they felt something was definitely about to happen.

And they had to be ready, however they could.

Shaw gestured Darwin welcomingly to the group and he moved toward Angel as though he had made his choice to join them.

Reaching her, Darwin suddenly grabbed her, shielding her with his body and yelling "Alex, do it!"

"Get out!" Alex commanded as he revved up his power rings.

Hank, Raven, and Sean ran for the door, not looking back.

Leaving Alex and Darwin to battle Shaw alone.

_You're a coward, McCoy._

_And Alex is a hero. Darwin too._

_But not you._

_No, not me._

* * *

**I absolutely hate that they killed off Darwin. He was so cool! He definitely would have been a powerful mutant and would have surely been a great asset to the Xavier team! What is wrong with you people?! *smacks director & writers with rolled up newspaper***

**As for Hank and the other arguing with him, it reminds me of Jekyll/Hyde from 'League of Extraordinary Gentlemen' played by the most awesome Jason Flemying. Who plays Azazel here, by the way. They both argue with themselves and have so much potential to help but spend an over amount of time being afraid of and denying their inner beasts.**

**On a visual note, I just love how Sean slides into frame when reentering the rec room. Shouldn't really notice such an unimportant thing when people are, you know, dying and stuff. But it's still cool. And then of course, there's my NH falling right into a table. *facepalms self* Oh please, somebody, I beg of you, tell me that was not planned and he just fell down! ;)**

**Thanks to MoonlitShadowsoftheHumanSoul, brigid1318, and ABewilderedBear for your positive reviews to the previous Oreo cookie chapter. You are so very sweet to indulge me!**

**Well, let's see how our mutants are holding up then. I have a feeling it's not too good.**


	9. Amid the Rubble and Ashes

I do not own X-Men: First Class.

Duh.

In the Beginning

Chapter 9: Amid the Rubble and Ashes

* * *

They sat outside the remains of the Institute, slouched defeatedly on stone benches. Together yet apart, they huddled amid the rubble of what had been a good beginning, a good start.

Now it was nothing.

Agents, soldiers, and other men moved back and forth around them.

Some of them had tried to speak to them. Ask questions, comfort them.

But the young survivors had remained mum. Their talking was done.

And so they were left alone to wait.

Wait for Charles and Erik and Moira. Wait for death. Wait for life. Wait for something.

Hank took no notice of the black government car that drove up and stopped. One of many. Unimportant.

Until Charles Xavier exited the vehicle, calling out for his mutant-sister and hurriedly making his way toward her.

She rose from her place next to an unmoving Hank and went to him.

He wrapped her up in his arms, clutched her head with his fingers in her hair and she returned the embrace.

_I should have done that_, Hank thought vaguely. But the thought was dim in the shadows of the heavier issues. _I should I done a lot of things. I should have stayed and helped Alex and Darwin. Fought next to them. Died with them if need be. _

He had tried while sitting there upon the numbingly-cold concrete seat to convince himself that he had run because Alex's destructive power rings were too unpredictable. He had tried to tell himself that he had run so that he might protect Raven during the next wave of attacks.

He had tried to tell himself that.

But he had known then and he knew now that it was a lie.

He had run because he was afraid and someone had given him an out.

He was a coward.

And now Darwin, whom he had barely begun to know, was dead.

Not just dead. Incinerated from the inside out by one of Alex's own destructive power rings. Shaw had absorbed it somehow and then redirected it into Darwin.

Alex, the smart-aleck pretty boy, had told them of it himself. Quietly. Succinctly. Emotionlessly.

Then he had refused to talk, to say more. Of anything.

He didn't really look anybody in the eye. He didn't respond to physical contact from Raven or verbal effort from Sean.

He just stared into space, silent and brooding.

Hank didn't think he was catatonic. Just shut down.

Many of the brave and not so brave government agents had died as well.

Dropped from on high by the one Hank vaguely remembered the Shaw monster had called Azazel.

One of them being John Oliver.

A good man. A good human.

Hank's ashy shell-shocked thoughts drifted back.

Hank had kept no regular, set work hours during his time at the Institute. Sometimes he had worked during the daylight hours, sometimes at night. Sometimes for hours upon end until Mr. Oliver had sent men to check on him and entreat him to eat or sleep. Or shower. On one occasion, Mr. Oliver himself had arrived to implore the young man to take rest.

"After all, Hank, we know that if we don't take care of our bodies, our brains will not function at their highest potential, right?"

Hank had agreed and reluctantly shut down his work for the next twelve hours to rest and recharge his batteries.

Though he had been somewhat abashed that Mr. Oliver had casually stayed until Hank had exited the room, locked the door, and sojourned to his private quarters. There he had seen himself in a mirror, disheveled and mussed up and staunchly made the decision to structure his daily routines more carefully. He respected the work and theories of the well-known Einstein but wished the guy didn't look so crazy in some of his images. Hank thought that if he kept himself dignified and proper at all times, people would find it easier to take a man so young seriously in his endeavors.

And from that point on, he had done so.

Even now, Hank would not venture so far as to call Mr. Oliver a father figure, but the man had been able to reach through to him when no one else could.

And Hank had respected him.

After all, it had been Mr. Oliver who had offered him this opportunity to work as he liked. And had never shown doubt in his abilities or theories.

Hank supposed the man had felt pride and protectiveness for him.

As one grown man to another, of course.

And now he was dead.

And they were left alive here. Though it didn't feel like they were alive. It felt like they were pale shadows of wraiths.

* * *

_Taken home immediately. _

That's what he had said. Charles Xavier.

Home.

Hank considered it.

Where? Dundee, Illinois? Back to the place where he was unwanted, a freak? His parents would take him in, of that he had no doubt. They would take him back without a word or hint of compliant.

And their stoically endured shame of his condition would be suffocatingly insufferable.

No.

Stay here? Help rebuild?

Maybe.

But he had felt safe here.

Now, no. Never again.

It had seemed like the start of something potentially amazing, something exciting.

Now it was nothing.

How could he go on here?

_No. I can't go home and I can't stay here._

_I won't do it._

But the words would not come. Hank was locked up within himself and could not speak just yet. He felt very young, very lost, very alone.

Fortunately, Sean, hiding his seething emotions behind round, tinted sunglasses, could always be counted on to speak up.

"We're not going home," he stated with stubborn finality, a clear edge to his usually upbeat voice.

Charles' face darkened further.

"And he's not going back to prison," he continued, glancing momentarily at Alex who seemed to be perking up angrily at the notion of defeat.

"He killed Darwin!" Alex Summers spat.

Hank felt an internal swelling within him.

Alex was back. He was going to be okay. His internal anger buoyed him up through the suffocating, squeezing quicksand of his misery at having accidently killed Darwin.

_Or maybe he never really cared, _Hank thought randomly and immediately hated himself for it.

_No, he cared. This is just how he survives. And he _will_ survive. He's strong like that. I must be strong too._

But Charles Xavier was not yet ready to accept Sean's adamant declaration.

"All the more reason for you to leave," he retorted grimly. "This is over."

"Darwin is dead, Charles," Raven spoke quietly, imploringly. "And we can't even _bury_ him."

As Raven gazed beseechingly into her brother's eyes, Hank hung his head. He felt Sean and Alex doing the same.

_Dead. And we could not stop him. _

So lost was Hank in his flailing, quicksand thoughts, that it took a moment for his auditory system to process Erik's cold, hard words.

"We can avenge him."

_Avenge? To exact or inflict punishment for a wrong done._

_Yes please._

Charles, however, was not so easily inspired.

"Erik, a word please."

And he drew the taller man aside. They spoke quietly and Hank wished he had enhanced hearing to order to hear their conversation.

He did catch a few words.

Kids . . .

_I'm not a kid._

Army . . .

_But I'm not an army either._

And then Charles Xavier turned and looked shrewdly upon them. Seeking. Searching. For what, Hank did not know.

But he did sit upright, suddenly aware that a life-changing decision was being made behind the refined man's stern gaze.

Finally, Charles spoke.

"We'll have to train. All of us. Yes?"

Everyone nodded, including Hank.

On the outside.

On the inside, the other, fighting through the brambles of Hank's damaged psyche, was roaring his agreement.

But Hank McCoy was still only Hank McCoy.

And Hank McCoy was scared and unsure.

"We can't stay here," he admitted, forcing the words out with some difficulty. "Even if they reopen the department, it's not safe. We've got nowhere to go."

He knew he sounded like a scared child in a grown man's body. Mostly he knew because the other cuffed him mentally up side the head in frustration and irritation.

_We don't need to be 'safe', you pansy. You've got me!_

Just as Hank was about to duck his head again, Charles Xavier nodded in affirmation.

"Yes, we do."

* * *

**Why the time and effort spent on Oliver Platt's minor, unnamed character here? I dunno. He seems to like Hank and care about him and then he dies so I figured that might have more of an impact on Hank if there was some sort of comradery here. Besides, it's Oliver Platt. Dude's cool.**

**Thanks to my wonderful set of reviewers , MoonlitShadowsoftheHumanSoul, A Bewildered Bear, and brigid1318 (dudes, read her fic 'Take a Chance' - it's beautiful) and your long-lasting loyalty. **

**Next up, we get to Xavier Manor. Can you believe it took me 10 chapters to do that?! I really talk too much. ha :D**


	10. Fast Times At Xavier Manor

I do not own X-Men: First Class.

Duh.

In the Beginning

Chapter 10: Fast Times At Xavier Manor

* * *

_Wow._

The seven of them stood together in front of the massive façade of Xavier Manor. It was massive, impressive. Intimidating.

"This is yours?" Sean half stated, half questioned slowly.

He sounded like he was trying hard to not sound impressed.

"No," Charles Xavier corrected mildly. "It's ours."

Hank gazed up in wonder.

_Uh, no, I don't think I can live here. Unless you have servants' quarters?_

"Honestly, Charles, I don't know how you survived," Erik intoned dryly. "Living in such hardship."

Ah yes, Erik, the concentration camp survivor. It must be both a revelation and a slap in the face to see the grandeur of Charles' boyhood abode while Erik himself had groveled in mud and torture.

And then Raven stepped forward to screen Charles from the sly verbal barb and to put herself forward as the heroine of Charles' tale.

"It was a hardship softened by _me_," she replied with the aplomb of a goddess.

Charles reflexively put his arm around her, kissing her hair.

_You lived in this castle, Raven? So you really _are_ a princess. _

Taking a deep breath, the blond beauty announced congenially, "Come on, time for the tour."

She led the way and the rest followed obediently.

_Yes, my princess, I'll follow you anywhere._

And so he did.

* * *

The distance away from the Institute improved Hank's ragged mental state considerably.

He had slept upon arriving at Xavier Manor. Deeply. Without nightmares. Of Shaw. Of the red-skinned beast Azazel. The exotic-looking cyclone man. The losses. The deaths.

He hadn't even dreamt his desperate, craving dreams of Raven. Those dreams were very enjoyable, he couldn't deny. But the lingering feelings upon awakening were a frustration to him, leaving him worked up and agitated with nowhere for his energy to go.

But now, here in Xavier Manor, he had simply slept. For several long, undisturbed hours. Deep and restful. Regenerative almost.

And now that his body was receiving such badly needed rest, healing thoughts were forming in the recesses of Hank's mind as well, slowly pushing themselves to the forefront.

_It wasn't our fault. We weren't ready. _

He welcomed those thoughts, those healing thoughts that seemed to come from deep within and grant him a whisper of hope.

Along with another thought.

_But we _can_ be ready next time. I _will_ be ready. I don't know how, but when the time comes, I will _not_ run. I will stay and _fight_._

He didn't know if the thoughts were his or if Charles the telepath had subtly planted them there.

Either way, he was beginning to feel a little better.

* * *

Then Charles insisted on an outdoor activity that involved Hank being, well, more than simply Hank.

He took him running.

Hank McCoy did not run. Not since he was a boy being chased by the bullies.

But Charles suited him up in a gray sweat suit and tennis shoes reaped from the abundant collections stashed away by his stepfather during the rise of the fear of the nuclear war.

_Um, okay, these are definitely not my flat front slacks. They're so loose, I can see the outline of my –_

And Charles challenged him to a race.

And Hank, trusting the clever telepath, reluctantly accepted.

Down around the gravel driveway, around the front of the house, they raced.

Charles of course being smaller, more agile, and more athletic, won easily.

_No real surprise there. _

But that was fine. Hank was used to it.

_Okay, well that was fun. Back to my lab . . ._

But apparently that was not end for Charles.

"Within each of us, two natures are at war," Charles quoted.

_Oh please, that's easy. _

"Robert Louis Stevenson, 'Jekyll and Hyde'," Hank replied effortlessly.

He knew his literature. He also knew his monsters.

As a eight year old boy in the second floor bedroom of his house, he had sat alone one night and read the story. From time to time, he paused to gaze upon his deformed monkey feet. And inevitably flinch away.

Even now he remembered the isolation, the loneliness, the hopelessness that had plagued him that night. As well as so many other nights of his short life.

He had paused in his reading to consider the desperate notion of cutting his feet off to rid himself of his inescapable monstrosity.

But of course that was illogical.

None of his mother's kitchen knives were sharp enough to saw through his tarsals. And his scientist father did not own a buzz or chainsaw. At least not at home.

The brandy case was locked and brandy itself probably would not block out the pain enough to keep him from screaming and alerting his parents. They would rush him to the hospital and save his legs and then send him to the psychiatrist. Or lock him up in a sanitarium.

He also did not have the necessary supplies to make an adequate tourniquet. He would bleed out and die and shame his parents even more at the funeral when they were asked how he had died. They would have to lie. That would embarrass them more.

And if the procedure, despite it all, still worked, then he would be forced to live out his days without feet. Stuck in a wheelchair, a burden, a shame to everyone.

So, reluctantly discarding the flawed plan, little Henry McCoy had finished the book. Turned out his tableside light. And cried himself to sleep.

And in the morning, hid his ugly monkey feet in socks and overlarge shoes and arrived in the kitchen precisely on time to eat his Corn Flakes before heading off to middle school.

Now as he walked next to Charles (_not nearly as out of breath as the shorter man, thank you very much_), he pulled himself back to the present.

"Top marks," Charles was replying lightly.

_Yeah, yeah, I'm a genius_, Hank thought sardonically.

"Except it wasn't really about good and evil though, was it, Hank?" Charles continued, warming to his subject.

_Alright, go on then, Professor._

"It's about man's animal nature and his struggle to control it, to conform . . ."

_Charles, are you _really_ preaching this to me? Me? _

But his words were very sincere, very compelling.

"And it's that struggle which is holding you back."

Still, it seemed he as an apt pupil should reply with some sort of dutiful response.

"Jekyll was afraid of what he could be capable of," he stated, already seeing the parallel Charles was drawing.

_I know what you're going to ask, Charles. And I'd really prefer not to if it's all the same to you._

"And you are too," Charles concluded.

_Ahh, I don't want to do this . . ._

He looked around the quiet, secluded estate and its vast green lawns.

_Then again, there's no one around to see . . ._

He glanced sidelong at the man next to him.

_And it would be rather enjoyable to thoroughly trounce you . . ._

So as Charles continued his pretty speech, Hank slowly made his decision and removed his socks and shoes.

"If you want to beat me this time, you have to set the beast free," Charles gently admonished.

_Ahhhhhhh . . ._

It felt so good to stretch out his cramped up toes. He flexed them slowly, feeling the muscles and tendons profusely thank him for the fresh breath of air and freedom.

Glancing down, he saw them. Those horrid, obscene atrocities he had walked upon all his life. He restrained a sigh.

_But maybe, just this once, I can have a little fun?_

The other within him grinned.

_A little? Come on, man, give me my head, I can run all day! Let's whip this little slut._

Charles was counting.

". . . get set . . . go!"

_Now, should I give him a head start? Let him feel as though he is doing well? Naw._

So Hank McCoy took off, leaving Charles Xavier to eat the dust of his prehensile monkey feet.

He ran the entire circle of the house, feeling the wind in his hair, the stones under his thick-soled, agile feet, and a smile fighting its way onto his face.

_This . . . feels . . . so . . . good!_

Up onto the path next to the house he ran. Saw Charles ahead of him, still running as fast as he could.

_I should pop up, just to say 'hello'_, he thought mischievously, advancing rapidly.

_Pull his pants down!_ the other hollered gleefully, reveling in the exhilaration of the run.

_Uh, no. . . ._

_Chicken!_

_Shut up._

But the internal interactions were so much more jovial than he was used to that he hardly minded them at all.

He placed one hand on Charles' shoulder, startling the older man. Who good-naturedly turned and laughed as he offered Hank a congratulatory handshake.

Hank took it . . .

_I could have pulled down your pants, you know._

With a smile on his face.

_But I didn't._

"Congratulations, my friend! Robert Louis Stevenson would have been proud."

Hank's face finally broke into a full smile. Both at the wonderful delight of being free and the visual image of pantsing one Professor Charles Xavier.

The elation was short-lived.

Alex approached, similarly clothed and wearing a thin smile. Hank nodded at him, completely swept up in the moment of empowerment. Feeling quite fine and ready to accept Alex for the unique person that he was. Willing to let bygones be bygones.

"Impressive, Hank," the blond guy commended him casually.

_Well, thank you very much, my fr-_

"With feet like those, all you need is a big nose."

And all Hank's joy was quenched on the drowning altar of Alex Summer's slicing proclamation.

"Right, Bozo?" he finished, clapping Hank on the back.

Hank's entire countenance fell and he withdrew from the ice-blue mocking gaze.

"I'm done here," he murmured, turning defeatedly away.

As he retreated back toward his shoes and his glasses, he heard Charles' most prim, thickly-veiled sarcastic reprimand.

"Thank you, Alex."

_Oh cut the crap, Charles! Stand up and say something direct, 'Professor'! Or turn his brains into applesauce! Something!_

"Come on, Hank!" Charles called out behind him.

_Drop dead, both of you._

He passed a large plate glass window and glancing up, saw Raven. Picturesquely framed in the window. She gifted him a delicately beautiful little smile and wave.

_Don't look at me. I'm a hideous, monstrous malformation. _

He reached deep down and summoned a smile and a half-hearted wave so as not to be rude.

And continued on his way to once more hide his clownish feet in his overlarge, restrictive shoes and continue his desperate, scientific search for normal, human-looking feet.

* * *

**Here's a thought. Would Hank have so desperately pushed to take the serum if Alex had left him alone a little more? If Alex had accepted him and went 'Man, you're cool!' ('cause I'm pretty sure Sean's too laidback to really tease), maybe Hank would have taken a little more time to perfect the serum? And of course if Raven would have stopped wigging out all the time. *rolls eyes* Drama queens.**

**And that little remembrance there? All me.**

**Anyway, thanks to MoonlitShadowsoftheHumanSoul, A Bewildered Bear, and brigid1318 for never leaving Hank alone to fend for himself. :)**

**So let's see what else Hank and the others have been doing. This should be fun . . .**


	11. Creations of the Mad

I do not own X-Men: First Class.

Duh.

In the Beginning

Chapter 11: Creations of the Mad

* * *

Professor Charles Xavier certainly seemed to be reveling in his self-assigned position as inspirational leader of their little mutant-band.

By the power of mind or money, he had manage to procure most if not all of Hank's laboratory equipment and had it secretly shipped to the Manor.

He'd given Hank his own adjoining suite of rooms. A large outer one for his scientific work, and an only slightly smaller one for his private quarters. Truth be told, the outer room was not so large or impressive as his lab at the Institute.

But something about it was comforting, soothing. Homey. Though it reminded him nothing of his own, much more humble boyhood abode.

And so Hank had begun his work again. There was so much more to do than ever before. Whereas before it was only Hank and his own ideas, now he had Charles, and Erik by way of Charles, constantly offering input as well.

Requesting specialized gear to enhance, focus, and strengthen their abilities. Prepare them for battle.

First, there was the red-headed Sean. Sean, whose vocal cords could produce sound waves the same pitch as the resonant frequency of glass and make it shatter.

Or scream so hard for so long that even wearing protective noise cancelling headphones, those around him still experienced heavy, roiling waves of nauseating sickness.

Which, after some careful contemplation, Hank decided _not_ to test further. Especially since Charles and Moira had apparently already done so and ended up heaving on the ground as Sean crumbled a metal trellis with his incredible sound waves. And then nearly passed out.

But it _had_ given rise to an interesting consideration. _Could_ Sean use his supersonic voice to fly? Or glide? And Hank immediately set about spending several days devising a mantle similar to a personally body-worn hang glider for Sean to test.

He seemed a little apprehensive to say the least.

"And you're sure this _will_ work?" he questioned the scientist as Hank and Charles cuffed the leather bands securely to Sean's wrists.

_Where did Charles get leather wristbands? Never mind, I'm not asking._

Hank glanced at the tense teenager he was cuffing to a modified parachute.

"Anything's possible," he reassured the strained freckled face. "I based the design off of . . ."

He was going to say _the flying design of a hang glider, only closer to your body_, but Charles interceded calmly and quietly.

"Hank, stop talking."

_What'd I say?_

And so Hank, only slightly annoyed, did.

When they had finally coerced the boy out onto the third story ledge, Hank's excitement at the forthcoming experiment grew until he could barely restrain himself from pushing Sean abruptly out into thin air.

_Steady, Mad Scientist, steady_, he chided himself.

_Jump, jump, jump!_ The other cheered gleefully.

The other had been having so much fun since arriving at Xavier Manor, it was difficult for Hank to remember the angry, sullen voice he had endured for so long.

And now here he was about to basically fling another human being out of a window in the name of science. And free mutants.

He noticed Raven hanging out the next window over, practically draped over Erik Lensherr.

_Hey, I'm the mad genius here! Cuddle _me_!_

Then he refocused.

". . . as hard as you can," Charles was directing.

_This is _my_ area of expertise, Charles. Let _me_ direct this traffic._

"You need the sound waves to be supersonic," Hank explained further. "Catch them at the right angle and they should carry you."

His valiant efforts were not exactly met to thunderous applause.

" 'Should' carry me," Sean reiterated sarcastically, looking paler than ever. "That's reassuring."

_I am offended, sir. I have never once killed a person during my testing. And I hardly _ever_ maim. _

Hank nodded, trying to look confident and calm.

_Push him out!_ the other called joyfully. _I wanna see him go splat!_

_Hush, you. _

As Hank ducked his head back in the window, he could see Sean was on the verge of passing out.

_Don't pass out. That'll skew the results, you Screaming Banshee. Stay conscious!_

And Sean did.

Then he tilted off ledge.

And remembered to scream.

Right into the ground shrubbery.

Together, Hank and the other gazed down at the slightly flattened boy spread eagle three stories below.

_Ouch. Hope he didn't break anything. That might slow down our opportunity at a retest. I mean, uh, that might hurt._

_He did it! Splat! Ahahaha!_

* * *

Then there was Alex Summers. Alex with his destructive power rings that Charles had been attempting to teach him to control. It had not been going well and Charles was running low on fire extinguisher fluid.

And so he once more called upon the impressive brain power of Dr. Hank McCoy.

And now here they were. Just the three of them. Below ground surrounded by steel and concrete and Alex drowning them in tidal waves of disdain.

Yes, Hank had designed the apparatus. He was a scientist, an inventor, after all. And a good one. What else was he to do?

That didn't mean he had to like the person wearing it.

"Sexy."

The voiced sarcasm was thick and cloying, like wet cotton stuffed down his throat.

_Oh stop complaining. It's a fantastic invention! And as if you need more help with being sexy anyway. Ugh. _

Still, Hank strove to accommodate. If nothing other than to please Charles. And to prove his dedication as a brilliant inventor.

"Well, this is just a prototype," he explained quickly. "The real one will look considerably better. I mean, it'll be a whole suit."

They were in the massive nuclear fallout bunker Charles' stepfather had commissioned. Alex wore the standard issue grey sweat suit that they were all sporting lately. Though of course Alex was so cool, he'd had to cut the sleeves off his sweatshirt to show off his arms.

If asked however, he'd casually blame it on always having an overwarm body or something.

But no matter.

Hank adjusted the newly designed control apparatus vest onto his test subject in final preparations, rapidly explaining the workings of the mechanism.

He was once again giddy with joy.

_Another experiment! Yay! _

Plus, the nude target models were female and wearing absolutely no clothes. And they sure were pointy.

_Not that I'm noticing. Nope, nope._

"You're sure this will work?" Charles questioned Hank calmly, probably more for Alex's benefit than his own.

Charles was smooth like that.

_Why do people keep asking me that?_

Hank gave it his all.

"Anything's possible," he conceded quietly.

_Way to sell it to the cheap seats, McCoy._

_Still shut up._

"Try hitting the one in the middle," Charles directed to Alex. "Just the one in the middle, mind."

_Yes! Aim for the boobies! _the other inside Hank quipped.

_Oh, would you please stop?_

_Nope. Heh heh._

"Good luck," Charles called out as he and Hank quickly exited the bunker.

They closed and locked the heavy solid door tightly. Hank waited with baited breath as the light turned from green to blinking red.

_I suppose it would be too much to ask for him to gain some perspective while he's locked up in there, would it?_

_Well, if solitary confinement in prison didn't do it. . . _

_Thanks for the glimmer of hope then. Go away._

_As you wish. Master._

They flung open the doors to a room edged in flame. And a toppled Alex.

Charles immediately directed Hank to quench the lines of flame and he did so without compliant, grabbing a fire extinguisher and heading over to the three mannequins. The one in the middle, the intended target, was the only one currently not being melted down by Alex's misdirected aim.

Hank sprayed the flame-licked floor and the melting mannequins as Charles proceeded to heft Alex from the floor and triage his condition.

_Did he get some sense knocked into him? _

"Thanks, Bozo!' Alex yelled out sarcastically.

_Apparently not._

Hank turned to see Alex exiting the room in a huff.

His anger flared and the other inside him returned, begging, cajoling, _pleading_ to him to follow. To let him teach the punk a little manners and appreciation for those who attempted to help him control his dangerous power.

Hank pushed the other back with some difficulty and continued to spray, teeth gritted behind thinly closed lips.

It never occurred to him that the constant sarcasm and contempt were Alex's defense mechanisms against the crushing defeat of another failed attempt to control his unwanted mutation.

Well maybe it did, but Hank was too stubborn to listen when the other whispered it to him.

* * *

**Yeah, parts of this might be a little goofy, but I really love this part of the film for that reason. Especially since we all know it's going to get dark here soon enough anyway.**

**Anything you don't recognize is either a deleted or extended scene. And they really should have been included in the final cut of the movie as far as I'm concerned. But they didn't ask me. Don't you think they should have? ;D**

**Thanks as always to Hank's, I mean _my_, loyal reviewers, MoonlitShadowsoftheHumanSoul, A Bewildered Bear, and my awesome brigid1318. You all make me ever so happy!**

**Welcome and heartfelt thanks to new reader FluffyShallEatYou (what the **_**fruit**_** is that a reference to? Gabriel Iglesias maybe?)**

**Next up, more of the lighthearted funny for Alex and Sean.**


	12. Unreserv-ed, Crazy Faith

I do not own X-Men: First Class.

Duh.

In the Beginning

Chapter 12: Unreserv-ed, Crazy Faith

* * *

It was a long climb to the top of the gigantic satellite dish.

Plenty long enough for Sean, the laid-back, joke-quipping redhead, to start freaking out.

"You truly believe I'll fly this time?" he grilled Charles Xavier.

At the top of the concave contraption, so very high above the ground, the four men stood, masters of all they surveyed.

_Probably. Most likely. I think._

"Unreservedly," Charles replied with absolute confidence.

Sean seemed to grasp hold of the single word in desperation.

"I trust you," he said, gesturing and not really looking at the man he spoke to.

Charles responded with aplomb.

"I'm touched."

Sean gestured again, this time at Hank. Again not looking.

"I don't trust him."

_Hey!_

"Say nothing," Charles murmured back to Hank.

_But . . . but . . . but this was all Erik's idea!_

Erik Lensherr, the man of metal. Who had casually suggested to Charles that all Sean needed was a little more height, a little more perspective, a little _push_, so to speak.

Hank assumed he was speaking metaphorically.

Sean shuffled in place for a second, gazing down at the ground far below. Then his thin veneer of bravery cracked like a dropped egg.

"I'm gonna die!" he burst out in sheer terror.

_Well, anything's possible. But the impact would be so abrupt, you probably wouldn't feel anything._

"Alright, look," Charles said soothingly, placing a gentle hand on the boy's back. "We're not going to make you do anything you're not comfor . . ."

_Aww, man . . ._

"Here, let me help," Erik spoke up suddenly.

And pushed the frightened, unprepared mutant off the metal ledge into thin air.

_Holy crap! I thought you were being metaphorical!_

_Ahahaha! Yes! You are a _god, _my friend!_

_No, he's not! Sean's going to _die_!_

_No, he's not! He's going to _fly_!_

Hank gripped the railing so hard his hands ached. He helplessly witnessed the plummeting descent of Sean Cassidy with a mixture of exhilaration and terror.

"Erik?!" Charles called out in alarm, also watching the plunge.

_Yes, Erik, grab the metal and hoist him back up!_

But the other within Hank, the one that had always made him brave enough to attempt to ever do anything at all, suggested a different strategy.

_No, wait, wait, wait . . ._

Then the falling boy's instincts kicked in. He adjusted his positioning and screamed.

And _flew_.

Well, glided up on his supersonic sound waves, technically. Just as Hank had hypothesized that he could.

And it was _awesome_.

Hank was so caught up in watching Sean's soaring flight and listening to his joyful howls that he was only vaguely aware of Erik speaking to Charles, a playful tone coloring his usually grim vocal patterns.

"What? You _know_ you were thinking the same thing."

They almost never convinced Sean to come down.

Hank got hungry and wished he'd brought some Twinkies.

* * *

This time it was Hank McCoy who was freaking out.

Charles Xavier had gone too far.

And the lanky scientist didn't like it.

Sean's near death experience triggering his instincts and literally pushing him into success had given the professor a bold idea.

And now as he and Hank flanked the only remaining female practice dummy, Hank had a similar thought to the one Sean had voiced seconds before his forced flight.

_He's going to aim for me. I'm going to die._

Then he glanced over.

_Well, since these are my final moments anyway . . ._

And he reached out, cupping his right palm around the mannequin's cold, hard breast. Attempted a squeeze. Then sheepishly drew his hand back.

_Okay, not exactly what I'd dreamt of, but at least I will be able to say I touched one before I die._

_Oh stop it, you've touched one before._

_Shut up! Selective amnesia._

_Big baby. _I_ enjoyed it._

_Still shut up._

"Wonderful work, Hank," Charles said lightly, seeming to adamantly ignore Hank's subtle assault on the defenseless mannequin. "Thank you very much."

_Ah, save the scorn, Chuck. Not everyone is a ladies' man like you. Plus, thanks to your ingenious idea here, I'm about to die._

The other inside him was exhibiting a slightly different reaction.

_Yeah! Look at me! I'm a target!_

". . . and try not to hit me," the instigator of all this current insanity continued.

_Us. Try not to hit _us_, Charles._

"There's a good chap."

Alex Summers seemed dumbfounded. And a lot less excited about aiming anywhere near Hank than he would have thought.

"You're serious?!"

As Hank began mentally penning his eulogy, an eloquent and passionate speech about his long-suffering, undying love for science and Raven, Charles responded calmly, reassuringly.

"I'm _very_ serious. I have _complete_ and _utter_ faith in you."

_I don't. I'd like to be excused now, please._

Hank tried to stand straight and tall as Alex set himself, but he flinched away nevertheless.

_Okay, Alex, I've said my final rites. Fire. Wait, no! Don't fire! Oh sh –_

It was a direct hit. Not that Hank really saw it. He was making sweet, sweet love to the concrete wall as far away from the mannequin as he could get.

_Oh, Wall, I love you. In an entirely differently manner than I love Raven but still . . . I pledge my devotion to you forever._

_Get over here, you big baby! Look what he did!_

Then he noticed that he was not dead, approaching death, or even singed a little by the fire currently enveloping the previously proud and mutant-groped mannequin.

_Hey, he did it!_

And Alex, Alex Summers, the one who cared not at all for anything and hated everything, was smiling. Really smiling. And laughing. And finally happy.

_He's just been scared and embarrassed and ashamed this whole time._

_I told you._

_He just needed to be set free. _

_I told you!_

_And I helped. _

_Yes, you did, you brilliant man._

So Hank reached out.

"Am I still a bozo?"

And Alex, still appearing relieved and thrilled and near tears, opened his mouth.

"Yes, Hank, you're still a bozo!"

Hank deflated a little.

_Really? We're _still_ going to do this?_

Then Alex smiled, gratitude grudgingly breaking through his callous outer shell.

"But nice job."

_Nice job? _Nice_ job?! Are you kidding?! I'm _amazing_, you little twerp! _the other ranted in enthusiastic outrage._ You should bow down and kiss my monkey-toed undercarriage!_

But Hank saw the true emotion behind the dismissive response. And decided to understand.

_Naw, I'll take it._

And Hank smiled back.

* * *

**Okay, okay. I lied. No Hank/Raven here. That got its own chapter. Sorry if I let anybody down. **

**Hey, brigid1318, catch the Titus? I couldn't resist! :D**

**Also an 11****th**** Doctor ref in there too. 'Cause I miss my Doctor.**

**Thanks to brigid1318 (who really gets me, God bless her), MoonlitShadowsoftheHumanSoul (who was right next to Alex during this scene, hugging him & everything), and A Bewildered Bear (who never gives me grief for going so slow through this movie). **

**Thanks as well to the silent readers out there. I hope you are enjoying this story as well.**

**You all are a joy, I say. I would never shoot at you or throw you off a satellite dish. Unless I had a super good reason.**

**Okay, up next, the Hank and Raven. I pinky promise this time. ;D**


	13. You are My Dream

I do not own X-Men: First Class.

Duh.

In the Beginning

Chapter 13: You are My Dream

* * *

Still flying high on the successes of his test subjects, the Ring of Fire and the Fearless Flying Squirrel, an exuberant Dr. Hank McCoy decided it was finally time to take a closer look at the beautiful mutant Raven's blood sample.

So he took a break from his design and creation of their g-force suits and settled himself onto a stool in his laboratory. Peering into the microscope, he inspected Raven's blood and the cells within.

It felt odd to be able to get so very close so to her in this way. To be able to see inside and understand her from within. Especially since he was experiencing so much difficulty getting to know her from without. It seemed so very personal to be able to gaze at her cellular structure. Seeing things that she could not. Knowing things about her that she could not know about herself.

It seemed . . . _intimate_ to him.

And of course, completely, overwhelmingly, fantastical.

_Wow, look at those leukocytes! They're amazing! I've never seen white blood cells like this ever before!_

As Hank was excitedly mulling over the infinitesimal cells that made up her beautiful, powerful body, he noticed the woman herself approaching.

She wore a very short, dark blue, figure-fitting dress and tall boots. Such a snazzy dresser, his Raven.

He really should consider dressing a little better for her as well. She probably didn't find his stuffy old man attire very attractive.

Her lovely blond hair was free flowing and looking touchably luxuriant. He wondered what it would feel like drifting across his skin.

She carried two large black and white mugs in her hands and the smell of hot chocolate wafted into the room with her.

The entire scene and setting seemed so right, so sweet.

So _them_.

Him attending to his scientific work. Her bringing him a relaxing beverage. Warm and sweet, like her.

It seemed like the way things should be. The way he dreamed them to be.

And Hank, as in love as he was, could only blurt out to her his scientific excitement at his revolutionary findings.

"You gotta see this! Your genes are extraordinary, you know that?" he raved as she approached. "Your cells age at half the rate of an ordinary human! When you're forty, you'll still have the leukocytes of a teenager!"

_Which means I'll be older and probably bald and you'll still be young and gorgeous! But that's okay with me if it is with you!_

And listening. She was listening intently to him and his rambling chatter. As if it really mattered to her.

That was part of the dream as well. That he mattered. That he and his work _mattered_. To _her_.

Of course, it was her blood he was expounding upon and that might have a little something to do with it.

"You have the most amazing cellular structure I've ever seen!" he enthused, nearly light-headed.

It was the closest he could come to telling her he loved her. At least for now.

Then the waking dream got even better.

She carefully set the steaming mugs down, edged around in front of him.

And sat down in his lap.

Hank was speechless. His brain and body gone completely haywire with sensory overload.

The other inside him fell over and faceplanted the laboratory floor, knocked unconscious with shock.

And then, as she leaned forward to peer into the microscope and her perfect body pressed more firmly against his, he remembered his personal training.

_Uhhh . . . absquatulate, baisemain, quindecasyllabic . . ._

She was beautiful as she gazed into the strong magnifying lenses. She smelled the way an angel was supposed to smell, light and feathery and delicate. And her warm body weight pressing into him was nothing he minded. It proved that she was real and not a phantom siren of his nightly reveries.

She could stay there on his lap forever.

Ever the outward gentleman, Hank nervously kept his hands and body as still as possible to spite this thundering body. He knew she was only making herself so physically vulnerable to him because she trusted him.

_Or she's sending me a signal. But what do I do with that?_

But for once, the other, the brave, brash, confident other one within him, was silent. Rendered catatonic by the unexpected physical contact.

Hank tried not to tremble. His entire body was warm and buzzing.

_Ulotrichous, sabbulonariu, xenodocheionology . . ._

"Beautiful on the inside huh?" she said lightly turning to look at him.

Her beautiful blue eyes gazed at him, causing his bones to figuratively melt into pools of warm liquid.

But they were sad eyes too. Sad from too much emotional turmoil, too many negative life experiences.

_But I can change that. I can make you happy. If you'll let me. I love you. Please let me make you happy. I'll do anything just to make you happy._

". . . and on the outside," he ventured, his voice dropping lower as he found himself in the most perfect moment of his entire life.

He ghosted her a tender smile and leaned in to show her just how beautiful and perfect and exquisite a woman she really was.

_The rest of the world faded away as their lips met in a soft, gentle kiss. Her lips were warm and supple just as he'd always known they would be. And her body was so perfect, so inviting. After a pause, she opened her mouth to his just a little, the tiny noise escaping her throat was just for him. His bodily responses surged and she didn't seem to mind._

_This was just what he'd been waiting for._

_A girl like this. _

_A moment like this._

_She even knew about his feet. _

_And thought they were amazing._

_Their kiss deepened._

_He drew her closer, running his hands slowly up her welcome body, feeling her warmth through the thin fabric of her blue dress. His fingers dipped into her glorious hair and lightly caressed her neck, gliding up to cup her perfectly formed face. His hands fit to her perfectly as though she were meant for him . . ._

Raven turned her face abruptly away from his and Hank's feverish mind cleared, the impromptu daydream dissipating as drifting mist before the harsh sun of reality.

She looked sad and angry and yearning and bitter all at once.

_Uhhh, what'd I miss?_

"What's wrong?" he murmured, trying to process what he'd done to so suddenly venture off the path of imminent romance.

_Am I going too fast? I'm sorry, I can try to go slower if you like. Of course, that would be a full stop._

"Well, this isn't really me though, is it, Hank?"

He cast about in his befuddled, brilliant mind, trying to think of something reassuring to say. He was having trouble thinking anything clear at all because she was still perched on his lap.

_Um, well, uh, it could be. I mean, I'm trying to make it so. For you. For us._

"I mean, uh, it's like you're complimenting my shoes or something," she continued, her throaty resonations turning brittle.

_Yes, shoes. Girls like you to like their shoes. Yes, I like your shoes. Wait . . ._

Her face was changing. Hardening, closing off, the softness seared away by the fire of her hurt. The fire that apparently he'd lit while fumblingly attempting to light an entirely different kind of flame.

Then she got up abruptly and walked away, leaving him hot and bothered and confused and lost.

Again.

Though he tried futilely to bring her back.

_Cups, oh, cups. Surely, yes . . ._

"Uh, you left your . . ."

But she was withdrawn from him and lost again inside herself and her disenchantments.

He took his cup and sipped regretfully from it, attempting to draw comfort from its warmth. What she had sweetly brought him just before everything had gone inexplicably south.

Hot chocolate.

_So sweet. Ah. How could something so sweet ride on the coattails of something so bitter?_

Hank sighed. Then resolutely set his young face in determination.

_When I finish this serum, everything will be fine. She'll feel better. I just have to finish this serum._

* * *

**I could have both hugged and smacked Hank in this scene. He's so sweet and in love, he's nearly delusional at this point. Because he's so desperate to believe, you see. And it's only going to get worse. Until he can't believe anymore. Oops, spoilers!**

**Okay, now the italicized part of this almost-kissing sequence was not in the deleted scene but hey, I had to give it to him. And then rip it away. *slaps hand* Bad me. ;)**

**Alright, before anybody freaks out, let's talk. Hank's not a male chauvinist or anything but come on. What guy wouldn't be thrilled at the woman of his dreams doing sweet stuff for him (such as the hot chocolate)? I mean, come on, ladies, we appreciate our guys doing sweet stuff too, right? Nothing wrong with it. And it's not the only part of a relationship definitely. But it is still sweet.**

**You know, until it gets all ruined here. *sighs 'cause I'm all out of cares to give for her hurt puppy routine* Thank you, _Raven_. (And Hank for being so dim.) Come on, couldn't you just give him a _little_ break? No? Well, fine.**

**Thanks to the ever loyal brigid1318, ABewilderedBear, and MoonlitShadowsoftheHumanSoul for surviving Hank's romantic car crash here. :)**

**Next up, a fireside conversation. **


	14. Pain in the Name of Love

I do not own X-Men: First Class.

Duh.

In the Beginning

Chapter 14: Pain in the Name of Love

* * *

It was evening. Charles was presumably with Moira, his current love interest, whom Raven had grudgingly proclaimed to be a step up from the usual brainless bar twits he typically pursued.

Or perhaps he was engaged in another philosophical debate with Erik.

They did that frequently. Engaged in intense, private conversations to the exclusion of all else.

Hank didn't know what they talked about. But he could guess it most likely wasn't rugby.

Shaw and Cuba, most likely. Tomorrow they were planning on stopping the monster and averting World War III. Saving countless lives.

But none of that mattered just now.

The serum was finished. It was ready.

He had worked tirelessly on it for days.

And now the time had come.

He had gone into town alone that very afternoon. To a high-end jewelry store and under the hawkeyed scrutiny of the appraising sales lady, had found the most beautiful set of diamond bracelets he could lay his eyes upon. He had bought them and brought them back to the Manor. And taken the black velvet box to the lab. Removed the lovely bracelets and replaced them with the serum-prepped syringes .

They were beautiful, the pair of them. Sitting together upon the soft, black fabric, whispering to him of hope and acceptance.

First, he and Raven would take their injections. Together. Solve their aesthetic problems. Together.

Then he would finally feel confident enough to express his undying love for her.

And she, happy once more and forever free of her shameful scaly blue, yellow-eyed condition, would be able to accept his love.

He would then give her the secondary gifts, the diamond bracelets.

And they would live happily ever after.

It was a fairy tale, to be sure. But fairy tale that could come to pass.

With the help of the green serum patiently and strategically developed by Dr. Henry Philip McCoy.

Hank closed the box and took a deep breath. Said a silent prayer to all that was good and pure in the universe.

He checked his appearance once more in the full-length mirror of his bedroom.

He'd changed his shirt, brushed his teeth, and brushed his hair carefully so that when the serum took hold and normalized his physical mutation, he would be absolutely ready to start his new life as a non-freakish, normal person.

_That's all I want: to be normal. That's all _we_ want._

And he was going to make it happen.

Then he set off for Raven's room.

* * *

He knocked on her door in three times in quick succession, so eager was he to share with her his special gift.

"Come in," her lovely, smoky voice invited.

Hank opened the door and entered, feeling like a kid in a candy shop. Her _private_ room.

She smiled beautifully and rose from her perch at the vanity table when she saw him. Apparently, her sudden ire with him had cooled now and she was ready to make amends.

_You'll be much happier in a moment, my princess. Your mutant prince is here to rescue you. With a syringe. _

He smiled back nervously, excitedly.

His lightening quick mind did not miss the fact that she was clothed only in a fluffy, white bathrobe.

_Is there anything on underneath that? Um, never mind._

He closed the door for their privacy and considered locking it.

_No, no, that might be a little presumptuous. Perhaps later._

"Hey," he said, suddenly breathless with rising anticipation. "I have a surprise for you."

She smiled with curious delight and took his proffered jewelry box.

Hank waited with baited breath, gazing upon her beauty, reveling in her nearness. Eager to see the joy and relief that would inevitably spread across her face when she discovered the contents of the box.

When she opened it, her smile froze then faded. Then she looked at him, her lovely blue eyes full of questions.

_Yes, yes, the sight of them is quite stunning, I know. They're so . . . magnificient._

He smiled reassuringly.

_I've brought you the entire world, my sweet Raven. Floating there within that light, green fluid._

Then she moved toward the twin chairs to sit before the fire. Hank followed her eagerly.

"I isolated the right marker in your DNA sample," he relayed, taking a seat in the chair next to her.

_She just needs some explanation so that she understands exactly how it will work. Intelligent woman, of course. Never just _take_ a chemical someone gives you. Not even me. _

The flickering firelight, gently warming the room, created the perfect ambiance for them and what they were about to do together.

Hank could see it all in his mind's eye. He had gone over it time and time again until it had become his hopeful, unerring reality.

They would take their serum injections together and their physical mutations would melt away like snow before the reborn spring. Then he would get down on one normal knee, take her hand in his, and profess his undying love to her.

If that confession ended in a kiss, then that would only prove to make the experience more perfect.

And then, if in exalted passion of freedom, they also expressed their love physically in the bed to his left, then that would be her prerogative as well. But only if she desired it. He could wait. He'd been waiting for her his whole life. A little while longer was nothing to a man like him.

_Yes, this is perfect_, he decided. _This is where we change our lives. Together._

"The serum works like an antibiotic," he continued, wishing to explain it so that she may have complete and utter confidence in it. In him. "Attacking the cells that cause our physical mutation."

Still she hesitated, seeming unsure.

_Ah yes, of course . . ._

"It won't affect our abilities," he reassured her. "Just our appearance."

_There. Isn't that fantastic? We can finally be normal. Together. It's so easy, so simple._

Hank felt another surge of excitement as he imagined their wonderful, deform-less existence together.

Still, his tentative, thoughtful Raven remained still, her face drawn into a frown.

A tremor of worry passed through him. He thought he could hear the other trying to talk to him, trying to shout something. But he couldn't make it out over the thundering of his own heartbeat.

And he didn't really want to either.

"Do you still want to do this?" he queried.

_Timid, she's only timid. That's natural, that's normal. Just give her a minute and she'll acclimate to the idea. Patience, my love, of course. I have all the patience in the world for you._

Raven leaned forward a little, her lovely face beseeching him.

"Should we have to hide?" she asked doubtfully.

His heart went out to her, his shy, sweet darling. She only needed a nudge. Just a little guidance.

"Well, you already do," he reminded her gently. "You're hiding right now. Like I have my whole life."

Did she wish to reveal their individual mutations so that when the serum took hold the moment would prove that much more momentous and freeing?

_A little . . . dramatic, perhaps. But if that's what you wish, my princess. _

Hank opened his mind and stood ready to do anything in his power to make her more comfortable in this, their moment of transfiguration.

_Anything, my Raven. Just tell me. And I'll do it._

"I don't want to feel like a freak all the time," he confessed, reaching out to her sense of compassion in hopes of bringing her back to him in their mutual quest for a normal existence.

"I just want to look . . ."

". . . normal," she finished for him.

_Ah yes, my Raven. You _do_ remember. You _do_ understand. I knew you would. Thank you._

He breathed a sigh of relief, trying to see it from her perspective.

_I know. I know what will help. I am a gentleman. Of course. I will go first. _

Hank drew his gaze anyway from her and set his eyes to the offering upon the table.

_Yes, I will go first and then you will see that it is safe. Yes, of course._

He lifted the heavy syringe from the back (_you, of course, my princess, get the first one. As a show of honor, you get the first one of, course_) and tapped it, more out of nervousness than anything else.

The other's distant voice was getting louder but Hank brushed him away before the words came clear and proved a distraction.

"Hank, don't!" Raven exclaimed suddenly.

He glanced up, concerned and confused at her outburst.

"You're _beautiful_, Hank," she said.

_Well, thank you, my sweet Raven. That is very kind of you to say. Delusional though it may be. _

"Everything you are, you're perfect," she continued adamantly. His precious woman.

He sighed.

Yes, he had expected that she may experience some sort of residual attachment to her old life. That was to be expected, he supposed. It hurt him to see her so desperately cling to an old stifling life of freakdom.

But if he could only be patient with her, guide her into seeing the truth, seeing the reality. Then she would go with him on the journey of transformation.

And in the end, they could be whole and normal and free and together.

If he could only make her _see_.

So though it hurt him, he listened. Because if he listened to _her_, then she would listen to _him_.

"Look at all we achieved this week," she continued. "All we will achieve?"

_Achieve, yes, you lovely, logical woman, yes. Exactly! And if we could achieve all that under the duress of our mutations, then what more may we achieve without their shackles? Don't you see?_

"We are different," she admitted.

_I'll say so. Did you know you turn blue and scaly and naked? But I love you anyway._

"But we shouldn't be trying to fit into society," she contended. "Society should aspire to be more like us."

_Well, Raven, now you sound like Erik. And that man, my dear, is a little more than slightly mad._

But Raven, his stubborn Raven, wasn't done.

"Mutant," she began, revealing her blue form to him. "And proud."

He sorrowed the words he was about to speak because he knew that they would hurt her. And he never, _ever_ wished to cause her pain. He wished only to take it away from her.

But he had to speak the direct words so that he may _save_ her. Save her from her physical mutation, heal her from it with his carefully engineered serum. So that they may be together as normal people.

And so he steeled his heart and spoke the words he knew would hurt her, cause her pain. So that she may see.

"It behooves me to tell you that even _if_ we save the world tomorrow and mutants _are_ accepted into society, my feet and your natural blue form will never be deemed beautiful."

She rippled back into her blond shape and it was indeed a sight for his sore eyes.

Though her betrayed expression and wounded tears were not.

He tried to make it better.

"You look beautiful now," he insisted.

_Please, Raven, please. I love you. I just want to help you. So you can be happy. So we can be together._

He held up his syringe for her consideration.

"We . . . need . . . this . . . cure," he said slowly, in a final attempt to break through her fear, her confusion.

But it was obvious to him now that she was not ready. She needed more evidence to convince her.

And he needed time to think, to sort through his tangling thoughts for a better way to convince her.

He tried to say so but words failed him as he had used them all up in his pleadings and coercions to her.

So he simply got up and left.

Perhaps time alone to think would help her see the truth.

Perhaps it would help him formulate a new plan to reach her.

Perhaps.

* * *

**If you love Hank as I do, you did not look away from his plummet into the abyss of the crazy. You stayed there beside him because you resolved to bear witness to the shame and embarrassment that he himself can't yet face. And I commend you for it. (Yeah, it's 5 in the morning and I'm being a little dramatic. What?)**

** Hank's so desperately delusional here, clinging to whatever he can to validate what he is doing to himself and Raven. It's very nearly excruciating to me. I love that sweet boy so much and I hate what's going on here. ****But that's what he told me happened. Yeah, yeah, I know he's fictional. Hush. ;)**

**So anyway, thanks for reading this far everyone. And thanks to brigid1318, A Bewildered Bear, and MoonlitShadowsoftheHumanSoul for speaking up.**

**Next up, delusions and dreams will be shattered. And I warn you now, it's going to hurt.**


	15. Fantasy and Reality Collide

I do not own X-Men: First Class.

Duh.

In the Beginning

Chapter 15: Fantasy and Reality Collide

* * *

Hank McCoy sat alone in the quiet of his laboratory.

He thought of Raven. He thought of himself. He thought of the serumed syringe on the table in front of him.

He thought back to their verbal exchange in her bedroom.

_Maybe . . . maybe it was just our first fight._

Couples had those, he had heard. And that the first one was only the hardest to deal with because it was the first time they had to see each other without rose-colored lenses.

_Well, I don't need to see her through any kind of lenses to love her. And when I take the serum and it works, everything will change for us._

His feet would normalize and he could show her that she didn't have to be scared. Didn't have to settle for what she was.

His science combined with her genes, could make her better.

Blond hair, blue eyes, creamy skin. Forever.

She wouldn't have to take the effort to concentrate anymore to be beautiful. She could just be.

And still retain her powers.

And they could move on. Be together.

Help other mutants.

Or simply go out into the world and live their own lives together.

Or both.

There was so much possibility for them.

If he could only take the first step.

Slowly, Hank picked up the syringe, looking deep into the undulating, green serum.

He glanced at the door wishing to see her there, framed in silhouette, watching him, come at last to be at his side for this most important moment.

She wasn't.

Henry Phillip McCoy was alone.

_We were supposed to be here together_, he thought sadly. _We were supposed to do this _together_._

But she was having second thoughts. Doubts. Confusions.

No doubt caused by that metal-bending darkman Erik Lensherr.

Erik Lensherr, who seemed intent on observing and storing every single little thing away behind those coolly veiled eyes. Erik Lensherr, with his predatory jawline and low, hypnotizing voice.

But he, Hank, Hank McCoy was the one who _truly_ loved her. He had developed this serum _for_ _her_. To make her _happy_. To make her _free_.

And now in her moment of weakness, he must be the one who was strong. For her. So that when all was made right, she could see that it was safe. That it was good.

_I'm afraid too, Raven. Don't think I'm not. I'm terrified to be doing this alone. I wish you were here. _

Hank looked down at his deformed, shameful monkey feet.

They were about to go away forever. He would never see them again after the serum took hold.

_What about me?_ the other within him intoned.

_You're leaving too_, Hank promised to himself._ I won't need you anymore. You've been nothing but a burden._

The other was taken aback.

_Really? I thought we had some good times . . ._

_Well, then you were wrong then, weren't you?_

And then he firmly shut that door of his mind. Padlocked it. Set a huge tree beam across it.

And bade farewell to every single aspect of his old life.

Except his science. He kept that. And he kept his Raven.

Finally, drawing upon every last bit of his courage and willpower, Hank McCoy reached down and carefully pierced his flesh with the syringe at the thickest tendon.

And pressed the plunger.

He let out his breath slowly, feeling a sort of peace within himself.

_No turning back now. No more second-guessing. _

* * *

Nervously he waited for the serum to take hold. Reminding himself that sometimes things like that took time.

Then the monkey feet he'd hated for so very long, reduced. Withdrew. Reformed in regularly shaped, human appendages.

It didn't hurt as much as he thought reforming bones and tendons and muscles should hurt.

And he nearly wept in relief and joy.

_Raven, I must show Raven. So that she can see that it's okay. That it's safe. _

Maybe then she would take the serum. Maybe she would finally let him kiss her. Maybe she would even _touch_ his new feet.

He was struggling to contain his soaring emotions so that he may rise and go to her walking on his normal human feet . . .

_I'll just leave the socks and shoes off and go to her barefoot,_ he thought with wild abandon. _Those old things are too big and silly-looking for my normal human feet now anyway._

. . . when everything changed.

He felt it before he saw it. A . . . swelling, an intense pressure in his serumed foot. It started there.

He could feel the newly reformed joints and muscles trying to spread back out again. The pressure was so intense it made him want to scream.

And then the invisible became visible.

Bones cracking, tendons stretching, muscles growing at an alarming, exponential rate.

He began begging, pleading, nonsensical words, muttered under his breath. Groaning and straining under the pain now radiating in tidal waves throughout his rapidly evolving body.

And suddenly the excruciating pain throbbed everywhere, racing pell-mell through his body. Shredding the organs and reforming them into larger, more animalistic versions of themselves.

He flailed, fumbling, tearing at his pants leg with the sharp, cutting claws that suddenly burst from his monstrously deforming hands.

He lost his balance and fell sideways as beastly fur exploded all over his body.

Only dimly he observed it was blue.

Blue. Like her scaly natural skin.

And then before he could call out for help, he felt his eyeballs swell and painfully reshape themselves into new form.

He caught a fleeting glimpse of one in a magnifying glass.

_Yellow? Orange?_

And then all fell away into black, formless nothingness.

As the void took him away from all the misery he had desperately flung onto himself, he had one thought that spiraled down with him.

_I'm sorry, Raven. I was wrong._

* * *

_Why am I on the floor?_

He lay very still in a crumpled heap.

_Did I fall?_

He felt . . . odd.

Of course he felt odd. He remembered now.

Raven. Rejection. Determination. Serum.

Something else that he couldn't quite bring to mind. Something important. When he tried to grasp hold of it, it scuttled away from him and growled from the shadows.

No matter. It would come to him.

He focused on what was important. His transformation. It had happened.

So he _would_ feel odd because the serum had obviously removed that which he had never been without.

His physical mutation.

He just needed a few moments to clear his head, to clear out his mental cobwebs.

He started to move then, still feeling strange and out of sorts.

Something blue and furry caught the corner of his eye. He jerked away in surprise.

_Wait, what was . . ._

Then he saw it loping toward him in his mind's eye.

Something huge. Ginormous. Something unstoppable.

It was blue. It was furry.

And it was roaring.

He turned in his mind and tried to outrun it. To flee. To escape.

But it slammed into him at full speed, knocking him down onto his back.

Helpless, caught, trapped like a . . .

Beast.

It stood on his chest, crushing the air from his heaving lungs. It pressed its face to his, filling his vision with his worst nightmare.

And roared.

* * *

Hank McCoy stood alone in the airplane hangar.

He was quiet and still.

Everything was clear to him now.

He never should have tried to force Raven to take the serum. She clearly no longer desired it.

He never should have said those cruel things to her and made her feel like anything less than what she was. He never should have made her cry.

He never should have tested the green serum out on himself so soon. He had been desperate, completely unprofessional, and out of control.

Now all that was gone.

No more desperate delusions. No more pie-in-the-sky dreams. No more futile hopes.

No more diamond bracelets either.

During his fit of rage and pain and shame as he had destroyed everything in his lab, he had destroyed those as well. Grasped them in his powerful clawed hands and torn them apart. Flung them and everything they represented away from him to fall amongst the shattered ruins of his former life.

He could see everything clearly now in black and white.

And blue.

It was done.

And it could never be undone.

And now he was here.

He was quiet.

And still.

And terrified.

They were coming. The other mutants. He had left a note on the door to the lab, unable to face them there where they could see what he had done. Directed them to bring the crate of suits.

And had fled to the temporary safety of the airbase.

But now they had arrived. He could hear them with his enhanced auditory senses. He could smell them through his beast nostrils.

They would see him. What he had become. They would know. _She_ would know.

There was no avoiding it.

Well, he _could_ avoid it.

He had already considered that. He could just leave. Disappear, evaporate.

Though it would no doubt be difficult for a big, blue furry monster to avoid detection by the humans. Or Charles Xavier the telepath for that matter.

He could certainly try.

But whatever else he had become, Hank McCoy was still a man inside.

A loyal man. A responsible man.

And he was needed.

No one could fly the Blackbird (except perhaps Erik if he lifted with his mind but that wasn't really flying, was it) but him.

And they needed the Blackbird to fight Shaw.

To stop the monster. To avert war. To save the world.

And so the thing that was once Hank McCoy stayed.

And he heard it.

"Where's Hank?"

That voice. It was her. She did care.

Too bad it was too late.

And then with everything single thing inside him fighting against it, Hank McCoy opened his mouth.

"I'm here."

* * *

**So hopefully the mental attack of the Beast came through right. It was both terrifying and awesome to write. You will let me know of course, yes?**

**Kinda hate to admit it, being a grown mature woman and all. But when his foot reformed for the first time, I was like 'Look, that's NH's _real_ foot! Heehee!' *sighs, hides face* I am such a dork. ;)**

**Thanks as always to brigid1318 (who minions never let her sleep long enough), A Bewildered Bear (look for your shout-out tomorrow), and MoonlitShadowsoftheHumanSoul (who is nothing if not loyal to Alex). Thanks as well to Pumpkin love-33 (that's intriguing!) for adding your support and review here. **

**Oh yeah, and up next, let's see what the other mutants' reactions are, mmmm?**


	16. Rise of the Beast

I do not own X-Men: First Class.

Duh.

In the Beginning

Chapter 16: Rise of the Beast

* * *

Hank walked toward them, forcing a steady gait. Refusing to allow himself to run the other way.

They stood in a line and like himself, they wore the specially designed yellow and black suits he had created for this very occasion. They all openly stared at him, glancing surreptitiously at each other in obvious disbelief.

He knew what he looked like. He'd seen himself.

Blue fuzzy tufts of fur sticking out all over the place. He'd tried to tuck them into the suit as best as he could.

The suit, slightly loose before, was now uncomfortably snug and restrictive. He'd had to remove the sleeves at elbow to accommodate his muscular arms, the pants above the knee for his knees and stout calves.

_Like a ridiculous schoolboy in knee-pants._

Embarrassing, it was so embarrassing.

He couldn't fit the g-force boots onto his big, hairy, monkey feet.

He couldn't even fit his old shoes either.

He had tried forcing them.

And in his mind recalled the original story of Cinderella. The wicked stepsisters, so desperate to fit into the glass slippers to win the heart of the prince, had cut off their own toes and heels and silently let the blood drip down.

_I _hate_ fairytales._

And so Hank had given up the notion of footwear altogether, flinging both pairs away in a rage, smashing the few remaining sets of unbroken beakers on the long table in his laboratory.

Broken now along with everything else in his life.

Beyond repair.

He still wore his glasses though they were now too small for his face and he did not really need them. He had jammed them on anyway, like a drowning man clinging to a floating life raft.

_I look like a beast, but I'm an intelligent man. I look like a beast, but I'm an intelligent man. I look like a beast, but I'm an intelligent man._

"Hank?" Charles said, seeming to ask a million questions with one syllable.

Hank forced himself to look at them, but not necessarily into their eyes. He knew what he would see reflected in them.

Him. More freakish than ever before.

"It didn't attack the cells," he relayed, barely able to keep his voice even. "It enhanced them."

All the strength in his powerful serum-enhanced body could not keep his neck muscles from preventing his head to duck in shame.

"It didn't work," he concluded, miserably defeated by his precious science.

And then Raven spoke. She now proudly wearing her blue form as he should have always worn his prehensile feet.

She, who had resisted him and his desperation. She, whom he had made cry. He was no longer worthy of her, if he had ever been at all.

_What might have happened to her if she had crumpled to my demands and taken the serum into herself?_

He repressed a shudder.

"Yes, it _did_, Hank," she said, taking a step toward him. "Don't you _see_?"

He moved toward her as well, stunned but not so stunned by her immediate acceptance.

Wanting to believe in something good again. Wanting to so badly.

"This is who you were _meant_ to be," she declared, reaching out for him. "This is _you_."

Her gloved hand gentle upon his cheek could not keep him from ducking his head again in multiplied shame and regret.

_I should have been this way with you last night. Why wasn't I? No, I will not lie. I will not hide. I know why. Because I was desperate and selfish and a fool. I'm sorry, Raven. _

"No more hiding," she concluded.

_Well, that's not really an option anymore anyway, is it?_

He gazed into her yellow eyes, looking upon him with such compassion. How could she, after everything he had said, find such forgiveness within her soul? After he had been so callous and dismissive of her needs, of her thoughts? Why did she even bother to reach out to him, a monster?

Hope sprung deep within that maybe if she thought so, he could find a way to make it alright.

Then Erik Lensherr clapped him on the shoulder.

"Never looked better, man."

**_RRROOAAARRRRRR!_**

Without breaking eye contact with the blue angel Raven, Hank's left claw shot out and clasped the tall, thin man's neck.

And squeezed.

Erik's feeble, useless hands came up to grasp at Hank's powerful, blue, furry arm, ineffectually attempting to free himself.

Hank snarled, deep in his throat, the rumble reverberating throughout his muscular chest.

He pulled the choking man closer to his own monstrous visage.

"Don't . . . _mock . . ._ me," he snarled, bearing sharp, silver-gray teeth.

Charles Xavier was calling out his name, attempting to give him instructions. But Hank took no notice of him. He did not care.

He squeezed Lensherr's neck even tighter and more menacingly to clarify his point.

_I can tear you apart now. I'm not afraid or intimidated anymore. Not by you. Not by anyone._

And as the fear . . .

_The respect . . ._

. . . began to form in the helpless man's eyes, Hank released his hold and dropped him like a sack of potatoes.

From the floor, the defeated Erik gasped for air, clutching at his throat.

"I wasn't," he ground out, looking up at the man who'd vanquished him.

_I don't care._

Hank glanced over at Raven to see her reaction.

She seemed stunned at his power and strength and ferocity.

Was there fear as well?

_You don't have to be afraid, Raven. I will never hurt you in any way ever again. I swear it._

Alex_, _the smart aleck pretty boy, was speaking now.

_If the words 'bewildered bear' or a 'cross-eyed kitty cat' come out of your mouth, I'm going to rip your lungs out, Ring of Fire._

Hank chose to listen to the blond man's admiring words.

". . . think I got a new name for you. 'Beast'."

Hank shifted, a menacing growl rolling its way through his entire body.

_Yes._

_Grrrr._

As he reveled in the new title, he realized the voice of the other was back, returned for the first time since his violent transformation. Only now it spoke with a growl. No longer words, only bestial resonances.

But Hank could hear him. He could understand him. He realized he'd been listening to those growls and snarls all his life.

His desperate brain had turned them into a guttural voice with human words for the sake of his sanity.

And now, that the threshold of his evolution breached, he could hear those sounds for what they really were.

The growling of the Beast.

And it . . . felt . . . so . . . _good_.

Sean Cassidy, the redheaded Banshee, broke through his machinations with a single question.

"You sure you can fly this thing?"

_Of course, you idiot. It's mine._

He looked up at the huge, black, behemoth of a jet. His Blackbird. A thing of power, of force, of beauty. He had dreamt it, designed it, and created it in a time so long ago it seemed forgotten. Back when he was just a skinny, overanxious geek. Who never could have predicted any of this would ever come to pass.

"Of course I can," the man inside the beast replied confidently, simply. "I designed it."

Of course designing a plane and flying a plane are two completely separate abilities. But not for Hank McCoy.

He was brilliant and furry and blue.

He could do it all.

* * *

**Ok, let me start by saying something you probably already understand. Hank's not a hateful, mean bully now that he's changed. He's just kept so much inside for so long that he's just starting to experience some, uh, extremely, volatile reactions right now.**

**So thanks to the readers, MoonlitShadowsoftheHumanSoul, ABewilderedBear (how'd you like your shout-out? twas meant to be funny), and brigid1318 (whose enthusiasm may never allow me to stop writing. ha). You are a fantastic lot, you are.**

**So next up, let's have a little encouragement for our Hank, shall we? And then we'll go kick some butt! :D**


	17. Mutants (rather than Snakes) on a Plane

I do not own X-Men: First Class.

Duh.

In the Beginning

Ch 17: Mutants (rather than Snakes) on a Plane

* * *

Raven seemed to move differently now. As if something had changed, had turned for her.

And she was blue. And red. And yellow.

She smelled different too. As did Erik. Though freshly clean, they both smelled of hidden, secret passions.

Hank had his heightened beast senses to thank for that little nugget of unwanted information.

Hank saw the way Erik stayed so carefully close yet not too close to her. And tracked her from the corner of his eye. And noticed the way they listened when either of them spoke.

And he knew.

And he _hated_ Erik Lensherr.

But he couldn't really hate him, could he? Because this was his, Hank's, fault. His push. His delusion. His miscalculation.

And he could not find it in his beastly soul to hate her at all.

He in his desperation had rejected and shamed her right in the arms of one who accepted her, loved her in his own way for the blue-scaled, red-haired, yellow-eyed beauty that she truly was.

Hank's chance to be with her was gone.

And he could never get it back.

And it hurt him. And the beast inside.

But he forced himself to set that aside for now. Focus on the mission. Put away emotion and personal trauma and focus on the mission.

The average flying time between New York and Cuba was a little over three hours. Thanks to the supersonic Blackbird, they made it in under two.

Hank slowed their speed as they neared Cuba.

And found he now had a companion to entertain him.

"Hey, man, can I have a turn?"

_Grrr . . ._

_Who disturbs me?_

Hank glanced over at the redheaded teenager hovering behind him, grinning.

"Um, no. I don't think so."

Sean the Banshee poked him in shoulder.

_Grrr . . ._

"Ah come on. Just for a second? It'll be fun."

Hank secured his furry hands more tightly on the controls.

"No."

Sean leaned closer, fidgeting.

"Please? Here, I'll make it worth your time, Beast."

Then he leaned in closer and dropped his voice.

"Twin-_kies_," he whispered seductively.

_Grrr?! Ahem, grrrrr . . ._

"No."

Sean pouted behind him. Hank ignored it.

"Please?"

Hank rolled his eyes.

"Stop it, Banshee. You'd argue with a post," Hank tossed back to him.

The red-haired Banshee grinned mischievously again.

"Naw, forget the post, man. I'm going for the post, the line, and the entire _fence_."

Hank huffed in mock derision but a smile was fighting its way onto his face.

"I mean, come on," Sean continued, crossing his arms. "If you can do it with monkey feet, then how hard can it be?"

_Grrrr . . ._

Hank really did growl at him then, becoming visibly more ruffled. Sean widened his eyes and held up his hands in an 'I give' gesture.

"Just testing, just testing."

Hank returned his attention to the jet controls. Sean remained behind him. Hank continued to ignore him.

"You know," Sean continued after a moment, picking at his fingernails. "You're a lot more fun now."

Hank glanced back curiously.

"What you mean?"

Sean shrugged, peering at the console's levers and buttons over Hank's shoulder.

"I dunno. You're . . . _alive_ now. Like, now when we push you, you push back."

Hank threw a glare back at him, more out of exasperation than real anger.

"Is _that_ why you pushed me? To wake me _up_? I thought it was because you guys hated me."

Sean snorted.

"Hate you? _Seriously_? You? No way, you're cool. You're, like, 'Science Guy' with the chemicals and inventions and stuff. I mean, you made something that helped me _fly_, man. That's awesome!"

Sean clapped Hank on the shoulder again and this time the Beast didn't growl. But he did smile.

"Thanks, Sean."

Sean shrugged again.

"Yeah, well, just don't tell anybody about our little chat session, okay, Fluffy?"

The Beast did not care to grace that statement with a response at all.

But Hank McCoy did.

"Whatever, Fearless Flying Squirrel."

Sean cackled, actually leaning his head down on Hank's shoulder for a second, completely lost in laughter.

"Sean?"

The boy raised his head.

"Yup?"

Hank flipped a switch in front of him.

"We're almost to the Embargo Line. Go sit down."

The boy glanced quickly out the window at the never ending expanse of water.

"Yup."

* * *

Ships everywhere.

Russian.

American.

The Blackbird had arrived just in time.

_Thank all that is good and pure in the universe for that little miracle._

Hank flew the Blackbird over them to get a bird's eye view of their targets.

And then he saw it.

One, lone Russian ship heading straight for the Embargo Line.

And if that one ship crossed it, the third World War would commence.

"Looks pretty messy out there," he relayed to the others in the cargo hold.

And continued circling to buy a little time in devising a workable strategy.

But Charles Xavier was always a man with a plan.

_Keep flying, Hank_, his voice directed from inside Hank's head. _I'm going to have a look._

Even if he didn't always expound upon the exact details of that plan.

Hank found out a few minutes later.

After discovering Shaw's meddling in an effort to make the humans destroy each other, Charles influenced a Russian commander to fire upon the runaway ship. Thus halting the oncoming march of war and maintaining the innocence of the Americans in the explosion.

Too bad the missile nearly took them out as well.

Hank saw it coming and banked the jet in a sudden, twirling spin. Raven's terrified screams reverberated through the enclosed space, triggering the beast within him to release a furious roar.

The missile skimmed past them and he leveled the plane immediately.

Then he glanced back, speaking with a dry tone to the man with the plan.

"A little _warning_ next time, Professor?"

Charles responded as though he had dribbled tea on the lace doily instead of nearly getting them blown out of the sky.

"Sorry about that!"

Moira, the brave female CIA agent who dated telepathic mutants, congratulated her boyfriend.

"That was inspired, Charles," she called out from her perch at the control panel.

_Yes, Moira, he _is_ amazing. And my flying skills? Any commentary there? No? Very well. As you were._

Now that all was quiet on the waterfront for the time being, Erik vehemently addressed their second issue.

Finding Sebastian Shaw.

"Hank?" Charles called out questioningly.

Hank turned back once more.

"Is there anything unusual on the radar or scanners?" he turned his inquiry to the human woman manning the various equipment behind him.

She perused them intently for a moment.

"No, nothing."

Then only one, unfortunate option remained.

"Then he must be underwater," Hank relayed in frustration to them. "And we obviously don't have sonar . . ."

_Sonar. My next invention. Jet sonar. Yeah, I can make that work. _

But they did have sonar as it turned out.

Sean, the Screamin' Banshee.

_Yeah, this'll do just fine,_ Hank thought, grinning fiendishly. _We'll wrap this up and get home in time for Carson. And Twinkies._

"Hank, level the bloody plane!" Charles suddenly cried out behind him.

_What? Oh, sorry. I was in Twinkie-land._

Then he heard Sean call out to him in an excited voice.

"Beast! Open the bomb bay doors!"

_Alright, Screamin' Banshee, go get 'em!_

Hank opened the doors and Charles called a few instructions to the pale, tense redhead as a vicious, tearing wind swirled through out the cabin.

And with an adrenaline-charging howl, Sean Cassidy dropped out over the open water, plummeting to certain death.

Until he opened his parachute arms. And his mouth.

Hank continued to fly, concentrating on keeping them airborne and safely out of missile range while Charles Xavier directed their little band of mutants.

* * *

Upon Charles' request, Hank hovered the Blackbird over the spot where Sean had detected Shaw's submarine.

He opened the bomb bay doors again, this time for Erik Lensherr. And lowered the landing gear to give him a platform of sorts from which to dangle.

_I hate him. Oh, how I hate him. But don't let him fall, okay? _ he silently pleaded. _We need him._

It took a few moments . . .

_Well, really, it's nothing but an ENTIRE submarine!_

. . . and then Hank saw an astounding sight.

A full sized submarine, hovering in thin air alongside the jet. Being levitated out of tons of heavy water by its metal. It was almost level with the Blackbird.

Erik Lensherr, the smooth man of cold metal, had done it.

* * *

**Banshee/Beast interaction here is all me. 'Cause I felt like it. Yeah.**

**Thanks to brigid1318, A Bewildered Bear, MoonlitShadowsoftheHumanSoul (who must be trying to give me a stroke), and I've Been a Labrat (never too late to the party, sweetie) for your long-lasting review clicks. **

**And thanks to chraezanty1317 for adding your support to this tale. **

**You're all quite lovely, I must say.**

**Only two more chapters to go, people! **

**So, ready for a fight?**


	18. Connect and Disconnect

I do not own X-Men: First Class.

Duh.

In the Beginning

Chapter 18: Connect and Disconnect

* * *

_Oh my plane, my beautiful plane! That's it! Who do I have to kill?!_

Hank McCoy, the Beast, staggered through the decimated remains of his beloved Blackbird. Attempting to sort out his jangled bearings.

An inexplicable bay whirlwind, generated by one of Shaw's minions, had spun the Blackbird completely out of control.

Hank, roaring and growling and fighting the controls, had done his best. He had kept them airborne longer than anyone else ever could have hoped to.

Long enough to ensure Shaw's submarine crashed onto the beach and lay broken and decommissioned at the end of a ragged path of flattened palm trees and debris.

Long enough for Charles to pull Erik safely back into the cabin.

Long enough for Erik to reciprocate by saving Charles' life during the crash, compressing them both against the metal of the plane. A fantastic feat that Hank missed at the time, being too intent on keeping (_her_) them all alive as long as possible.

But against all of Hank's valiant efforts and willpower, they _had_ crashed.

Amid terrified screams and fiery gouts of flame.

The cockpit shearing away from the rest of the plane.

Hank blacking out for the merest of seconds and all the while still hoping, praying that (_she_) they were all okay.

And they were.

Hanging upside down, perhaps with their teeth and brains rattled a little, but still functional.

And now they lined up, peering out at the still metal maritime vessel. Shaw, the murderous mutant, according to Charles, remained within. Apparently converting himself into some sort of explosive nuclear device.

The old Hank would have had to absolutely restrain himself from begging to study the man and his ability.

The new Hank just wanted to kill him.

Charles began rapidly relaying orders to each listener in turn.

And of course Raven, taking precious seconds out of their time-sensitive mission to get her feelings hurt and angered by her mutant brother.

Hank felt for her, truly he did. But . . .

_Really? I'm sorry but now is _not_ the time, Raven. _

Assigned their directive . . .

_Hello, I'm Hank, I'll be your big, blue monkey bodyguard this evening . . ._

. . . he and Alex prepared draw fire away from Erik so that he may enter the ruined sub to find and stop Sebastian Shaw.

And there they stood. Angel, once their friend. The man Dorothy of Kansas would have hated. And him. Azazel. The red-skinned, black-haired devil.

_Grrr . . ._

* * *

Havok blasted the windmaker Riptide, knocking him unconscious and defenseless.

And Beast got his wish. The red skinned beast attacked.

Teleporting right behind them, wrapping his prehensile tail . . .

_Oh thank science I didn't need up with one of those . . ._

. . . around Alex's neck.

Hank cut the Beast loose to battle his red enemy beast to beast.

_Back off, freak, the only one who strangles this guy is me!_

Which took a wild turn as they abruptly teleported several hundred feet above the ocean.

_What the h-_

Falling, the blond mutant screaming his name . . .

_Oh yeah, sure _now_ you need me . . ._

Reaching down with one monkey foot to grasp his arm.

_Got you, Alex . . ._

Wrapping his arms around the red skinned mutant. Almost in a hug.

Except with slicing claws that pierced the red flesh.

Trapping him. And throwing down the gauntlet.

"We go, you go!"

Teleporting . . .

_. . . ooohh, tingly . . ._

. . . five feet from the the ship's deck and thudding to the deck.

Wind knocked out of him. Trying to breathe. Trying to think. Trying to track the red-skinned enemy.

Terrified human naval officers running everywhere.

Taking hits, dodging wildly thrown power rings . . .

_Whoa, whoa, whoa, Ring of Fire! Not me!_

. . . football tackling the red beast, teleporting . . .

_Stop that . . ._

. . . onto the deck above, exchanging blows, teleporting . . .

_Ugh, okay, now, I'm going to barf . . ._

. . . onto the beach . . .

_De ja vu . . ._

. . . once more.

Landing on his back with the red skinned monster atop him . . .

_Submissive position, not good . . ._

The fiend grinning wickedly and slowly relishing taking aim at one eye . . .

_Goodbye, World. Goodbye, Raven. I'll will not blink, I will not blink, I will not . . ._

. . . and Raven, garbed in the guise of Shaw himself . . .

_Shaw. Not Shaw. Smells like Raven._

. . . buying him enough time to fling the black-haired monster into the air as he teleported . . .

_Sneaky, Red Man. Where would I be . . ._

. . . about-facing behind him to his most vulnerable point . . .

_You're so sly . . ._

. . . catching the man-devil with a heart-stopping, open-handed blow to the chest.

_. . . but so am I._

The mutant Azazel collapsing facefirst onto the sand and laying still.

_Stay. Good boy._

And looking back to see her rippling back to herself.

_Thank you, my Raven. I mean, Raven._

And she smiled.

He didn't have time for his heart to shatter all over again.

Something was happening.

Something big.

* * *

"Today our fighting stops!"

Erik, the mighty metal bending mutant, grandly levitating to the ground, the dead Shaw hanging in the air like the crucified murderer he truly was.

And Hank could not feel regret that he was dead.

Standing there between Raven, Alex, and Sean. Angel, the tornado man Riptide, and Azazel separated on the other. Charles and Moira further behind.

And Erik Lensherr, Magneto, finally risen to terrible power.

Dropping the dead man who had personally, purposefully destroyed his life to the dry sand of the beach like a bag of discarded garbage.

And continuing his captivating speech.

A speech which Hank not only heard with his beast ears, but felt deep in his mutant core.

It called to him. The voice called to him.

But it wasn't him the voice was calling for.

It was Charles. It was Raven.

And Hank did not want them to hear, to listen, to answer.

Because Erik Lensherr was in an exquisitely righteous rage.

His words held powerful sway.

And Hank did not want those words to send them down a darker path.

* * *

Missiles. There were so, so many.

Russian.

American.

Sent by the humans.

Humans now bound together in fear. And stupidity.

Repaying their noble mutant self-sacrifice and bravery with intended annihilation and death.

Hank might have felt betrayed.

If he could feel.

But he couldn't. He, like the rest, simply stood, frozen in shock.

And watched them come.

All but Erik.

At the very last second, he stopped them, saved them all by simply raising his hand.

The humans had attempted to end them all.

And so Erik Lensherr returned them their toys. At full, destructive speed. Wearing Shaw's helmet, cut off from the powers and pleadings of his one and only friend. He was unreachable. Unstoppable.

He was Death.

Charles the peacekeeper. Charles the negotiator. Charles the professor.

Charles Xavier, who hated violence, resorted to his final option. And with an enraged cry, drove his friend to the ground.

They tried to help, stay fight between them, pull them apart, stop the madness.

He and Sean and Alex.

But Erik defiantly flung them back to collapse with a bone-jarring crash into the ground, yards back.

All but Raven. She alone, remained standing, remained untouched.

And every time either man hurt the other, a few more missiles fell, deactivated, into the waiting water of the bay.

But Erik was not to be deterred.

He would have his vengeance.

Upon everyone who dared defy him.

To attack him. Or his mutants.

* * *

Until Moira opened fire.

Her carefully aimed bullets glanced off Erik's newly acquired helmet. Hank's enhanced senses heard them ping.

She continued to fire and Erik averted them one by one.

And shot his first and only friend in the back.

At his anguished cry, the man of metal turned and looked.

And the remaining missiles. American. Russian. They all fell.

Hank, with a haunting sense of disconnect, watched them. Erik did not.

Charles fell, broken and bleeding upon the sand, spine pierced by one of Moira's bullets, intended for Erik and sent awry.

The metal man, without hesitation, threw it away all. Collapsed to his knees beside his one and only friend. Retrieved the bullet from his shattered spine. And cradled Charles in his arms in sorrow and misery and guilt.

Hank might have felt compassion for him then.

If he could have felt anything.

But he could not.

Erik, however, was feeling enough for all of them.

Screaming at them, begging Charles' forgiveness, strangling Moira until the broken man made him stop.

Charles Xavier and Erik Lensherr.

The two men. Polar opposites. In life, philosophy, action.

Their love for each other, their inability to bend to the other's beliefs and visions, might have made Hank weep.

If he could have felt anything at all.

Charles, with tears coloring his words, rejected Erik. Erik and his mission. The man of metal seemed to reluctantly swallow bitter, unshed tears, and melt his heart into unfeeling, unbending metal.

And let Charles Xavier go.

Allowing the distraught Moira to rush to the fallen man's side.

And Erik.

The Magneto.

Rising, sending out his plea to the rest of them.

To _her_.

Stretching out his hand.

And she, she _accepted_.

Letting them go. Walking toward him. Kneeling at the crumpled form of her mutant brother and kissing him. Gaining his blessing to abandon them all.

And taking the hand of Erik Lensherr.

Hank might have cried to her, pleaded, begged, wept for her to stay.

If he could have moved. If he could have breathed. If he could have _felt_.

But he could not.

All he could do was watch her abandon them all.

And leave.

With them.

With _him_.

"And Beast . . ."

He looked at her one final time, unable to process the reality unfolding before him.

"Never forget: mutant and proud."

He could look upon her no more. Not like this.

_No. I cannot accept that and I cannot accept you. Doing. This._

He turned away, floundering in a quagmire of defeat and defiance, hopelessness and loss.

Then, in a puff of red smoke and a whiff of brimstone, they were gone.

_She_ was gone.

And they alone remained.

Deserted. Abandoned. Forsaken.

* * *

**Here's a bonus chapter for you all! 'Cause I'm all nice (and obsessed) and stuff. Hope you enjoy!**

**Thanks to brigid1318, MoonlitShadowsoftheHumanSoul, I've Been a Labrat, and A Bewildered Bear for staying strong throughout this retelling.**

**That's the end of the movie for good, ole Beastie Boy Hank (see what I did there?). But you know me. I can never leave well enough alone. And I can't just leave him on the beach.**

**Our guy deserves one final chapter, don't you think?**


	19. A Bit of Hope

I do not own X-Men: First Class.

Duh.

In the Beginning

Chapter 19: A Bit of Hope

* * *

Charles Xavier could not feel his legs.

And Hank was terrified.

Moira managed to contact the Institute. She called in every favor, dropped every name, promised (falsely, Hank was sure) every bit of intel she could, to get them off the beach and have the whole situation covered up.

Charles Xavier, in extreme fear and pain, helped as much as he could.

Though one CIA agent got a whiff of Charles shrieking mind and unexplainably collapsed into massive seizures and had to be taken away.

Apparently he would make a full recovery. In time.

Charles and the others were cared for by men so sworn to secrecy they burned all their medical documents at the end of each day.

They were a top-notch, expert medical team.

Even so, the injured telepath almost died. Moira refused to leave his side and hawkeyed every single person that entered the his presence. She was iron. She was steel. No one touched Charles Xavier without her leave.

Hank nearly walked a canyon into the tiled floors. Alex and Sean fearlessly shooed and bugged and harassed ogling men in suits away from the shocking sight of a big, blue, furry beast anxiously imbibing cup after paper cup of sugar-laced coffee.

And finally, Charles Xavier slowly left the dark woods of death.

And began to heal.

He would never feel his legs again. He would never walk again.

But he was alive.

* * *

And eventually dismissed to Xavier Manor.

His friends cared exhaustively for him unto emotional and physical collapse. They worked in teams of two, taking alternating shifts so that no one was left alone.

And when it was determined that Charles would survive, perhaps even thrive in a limited capacity, they finally rested themselves a bit more.

It was only then that an exhausted Hank McCoy, feeling as fuzzy inwardly as he looked outwardly, basically collapsed in a shriveling ball of blue fur and hidden misery.

And now, many days after the Cuban Missile Crisis, he was here once again. In his lab.

He had not set hairy monkey foot in it since the evening before Cuba. That disastrous evening.

The place was a wreak. Oveturned tables, shattered glass, ruined scientific equipment.

Everything in pieces, scattered, and decimated. Crushed and smashed.

_A visible reflection of my inner self, I suppose._

Looking at it, Hank decided therefore that he would have to clean it all out completely and start from scratch.

_And then I'll have to start on me_, he mused darkly.

But he pushed that consideration aside for now. It was easier, more acceptable, more _bearable_ to address the physical condition of his lab rather than the emotional and mental condition of his own personal self.

Thanks to the physical presentation of the beast, he was much stronger now and so able to move some of the heavier broken equipment much easier.

_I suppose I should be grateful for that._

But the thought made him growl, deep in his core.

He wasn't ready to be grateful. Not yet. Not by a long shot.

It had been such a promising beginning. For them all. That had unraveled like runaway yarn from its tightly wound ball. And come to an undeniably painful and catastrophic end.

He glanced out the window and saw Charles and Moira together along the path outside.

_Ah yes, the two remaining lovebirds._ _Well, at least somebody got to keep a little hope._

But not him. Hank had thrown away his hope. Tossed it aside in desperation. He had hurt her who had needed him so much. Pushed her away. Into the arms of another. And turned himself into a furry, monstrous beast.

And then she had abandoned them, her mutant brother in particular, in his most desperate hour of need.

Hank still couldn't wrap his head around that.

So he pushed it away too.

Dragging himself out of his own internal mire, it was then he saw Moira bend down next to Charles' wheelchair and gaze into his eyes. Speaking her devotion and loyalty to him, no doubt. Charles was smiling gently at her.

_Well, go ahead and kiss her, Xavier. Quick now before she changes her mind. Trust me there's only a limited window here. Don't miss it. _

And Charles did kiss her.

_Well, that good. At least somebody's going to get the happy fairy tale. Sort of. Sans legs, I mean._

And then he noticed Charles subtly placing his right hand to his temple.

_Uh-oh, maybe not. Well, that's unfortunate. I liked Moira._

The pair separated and Moira suddenly changed her posture. She straightened up and looked around as though she didn't know exactly where she was.

Then she walked away toward where the cars were held.

The man in the wheelchair watched her go, regrettable sadness darkening his grim face.

Hank was fairly certain that he would never see her again.

_Well, I guess it's just us boys now. All our women have gone away. We're doomed for sure._

It might have been funny to him, worthy of an ironic chuckle, a guttural laugh. If Hank's mind and soul had not been wandering alone and lost in dark places.

And so for lack of a better plan or initiative, Hank McCoy cleaned his lab. It was all he could do.

Feeling alone. Lost. Purposeless. A ghost of a shell of a man.

_Or beast, if you prefer. I, for one, don't._

* * *

But as it turned out, he wasn't as alone as he thought.

"Hey, Beast! Sorry I missed the party you threw in here."

It was the red-haired Sean Cassidy, the Fearless Flying Squirrel himself, followed by the blond-haired Ring of Fire, Alex Summers.

_Grrr . . ._

Hank tried not to glare at the uninvited duo as they wandered about the destroyed laboratory. Toeing at piles of decimated refuse, glancing through shredded paper drifts.

Still, Hank was a man inside his beastly exterior.

"What can I do for you gentlemen?"

Alex grinned broadly and dared to clap him on one blue furred shoulder.

"Nothing, man. We're here to do for _you_."

And they did. Together, Sean Cassidy, Alex Summers, and Hank McCoy cleaned the laboratory in Xavier Manor.

In the midst of cleaning, Alex held up the destroyed diamond bracelets. They were nearly unrecognizable amid the shattered glass vials and beakers.

"Hey, what's this? Important?"

Hank paused, then shook his head decisively.

"No."

The shattered gems found their place in the garbage bin along with everything else.

And life, of a sort, for Hank McCoy, moved on.

* * *

**Okay, that's like my billionth X-Men story down. Whew! **

**The phrase 'dark places' is a reference to a new movie NH and Charlize Theron have made. Don't know if I'll even bother with watching it or if it'll be any good considering it's not X-Men or Warm Bodies. *smirks**

**I started this story for my brigid1318, who is a phenomenal writer (go check out her fic, go, go, G_O_!) and will be commencing her own new beginning (much more positive, I'm sure) on Monday. I hope I have written this story properly for you and that it has made you laugh, cry, experience heart palpations, snarl, and empower your own inner beast. Thank you so much for being my cyber friend and ally. You rock!**

**Also, thanks to the ever enthusiastic MoonlitShadowsoftheHumanSoul (& your nerve-racking hobbies), the most gracious ABewilderedBear (I hope I never let you down, sweetie and thank you so very much for the profile shout-out. I am humbled and honored), Aletta-Feather (who truly just made my day!) and I've Been a Labrat (quite the prolific writer herself.)**

**Thank you as well to the silent readers of this tale. I've seen you and I thank you for your time. **

**Now, everybody, go spread some hope around and read something that you enjoy. I'll see you again soon. Bye! :D**


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